


Changeling

by knitwrit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Disability, F/M, Genderqueer Character, M/M, POV Percy Weasley, Percy Weasley-centric, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:01:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 59,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25929301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knitwrit/pseuds/knitwrit
Summary: Percy wakes up one night in the middle of a forest, alone and scared and in a body that seems smaller than it should,  surrounded by the burnt remains of a powerful magical field.Is Percy crazy?  A Seer?  Was he attacked by a madman?  Why does he have memories of things that haven't happened yet?  Why doesn't his magic work the way he think it should?An A.U.
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood
Comments: 96
Kudos: 284
Collections: Trans Fiction ⚧





	1. A child, haunted

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A festival of traitors](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16288199) by [Irisen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irisen/pseuds/Irisen). 
  * In response to a prompt by [knitwrit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knitwrit/pseuds/knitwrit) in the [trans_positivity_fiction](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/trans_positivity_fiction) collection. 



> Inspired by Irisen and Kittysmith's works about Percy. Also UrbanAnchorite's work by her published original fiction! Harrow the Ninth

Percy Weasley sat in a strange room in a strange bed, staring at his hands. 

He experienced a dizzying moment of disconnect, wondering how the pale, small fingers before him were his own. 

He swallowed thickly, felt himself get dizzier.

I'm here, he thought blankly, nonsensically, I made it. 

The white cinderblock walls of the small bedroom pressed in on him, wavered. He felt himself turning his hands over and over again, staring at them as if looking for answers in the freckles that speckled across the backs of his hands. Was this really his body? Was he dreaming, or insane?

Bells started to ring, but distantly, the slow steady pulse of a medical alarm. The noise jolted him into a state of high alert and he looked around frantically, at the pale green curtains pushed away from his bed, at the single, windowless door at the opposite side of the room. 

The ceiling was painted like the sky, with birds flying in it. He supposed that detail was supposed to make him calm, but he glared at the painted bird, circling the ceiling. He wondered if it was spying on him, and who it would report his movements to. 

What was he doing here? Was he in a hospital? Didn't he realize he could be captured here? His fingers hurt, digging into his own arms, his fingernails pressing down into his flesh, trying to keep his swirling thoughts settled. Was he being tortured? Had he been captured? Why couldn't he think clearly? His vision blurred, his mind a chaos of worries, broken images of bombs and blood, fear a thick fog in his mind. 

One thought took him over with sudden clarity as he heard footsteps approaching from the hallway : He wasn't safe. He had to get away. He had to hide.

Decision made, he was on his feet and running towards the door, but two women had already clambered into his room the moment he tried the door handle, pushing him away from the door entrance. He launched himself at both of them, but had only kicked the one when the other managed to feint around him and lunge. She had captured his arms and he struggled against her, flinging his arms out madly. But she caught them firmly and drove them inwards to cross them at his chest, with a sharp snap that had him crying out in pain as he resisted her. Broken, he was sure. 

Why were they so much bigger than him?

He threw himself backwards at the woman behind him, kicking his feet into the air at the women in front of him and arching his back, leaning all his small weight back against the woman holding him from behind, shrieking and spitting; a detached part of himself watched the scene from above and noted with almost clinical dryness that a raging child fighting for his life had surprising ferocity. But why was he so small? And with this thought he lost his detachment and slammed back into his body, a stinging hex firing backward away from him and towards the women who held him. The woman grunted with pain and stumbled backwards, but didn't let go. 

"Percy Weasley!" He froze, his nine year old body trained to respond to that voice instinctively. 

A wreath of curly red hair billowing out behind her, a short stocky woman stormed into the room, looming larger than life. 

"You stop that this instant!"

Percy gaped at her, his brain clicking to a stuttering halt.

The women holding him set him to the floor with a grunt, loosened her grip, but didn't let him go.

An image flashed before his eyes, of the same red haired woman, his mother, haggard and covered in dirt and blood, her hair streaked with grey and her cheeks sunken, firing curses into a battlefield around them,yelling at Percy to take Ginny and go, his arms around his sister, his mother throwing something at him, his hand reaching up to grab it and the traitorous Portkey taking him away from her forever....

His legs buckled underneath him in boneless exhaustion, he collapsed onto the floor. Mercifully, the image left him. He came back to reality as the cold floor beneath him rose up to meet his watery legs.

His mother was walking towards him, frowning. Tears started to well up in Percy's eyes and he realized his arm was still hurting fiercely.

"Mom?" He stuttered,his voice too small and high to his ears. How had he let her down?

She was crouching on the floor next to him, her eyes deep with concern.

"Percy," she said gently, reaching both arms towards him, "it's all right, I'm here."

His brain screamed at him it must be a trap but he collapsed into her embrace anyway, the tension finally draining from his body as she held him tightly to her. He let out a little yelp as she squeezed him into her, his arm a riot of pain. 

She drew back, wiping his tear streaked face with her fingers, looking solemnly into his eyes. 

"Percy, dear, are you hurt?" She asked him gently.

Something about that sweet tone, her old familiar scent was enough to completely break him, to let him know that she was real ,she was safe, even if nothing else in the world was.

Tears came flooding with renewed urgency down his cheeks and he clung his arm.

"Did you hurt your arm?" She asked him gently. 

Percy could only nod, bite his trembling lip. 

Molly sniffed and pulled herself up from the floor, glaring at the two women who Percy had fought. 

"My son," she sniffed, "appears to have a broken arm. No thanks to your man handling of him. Really, whoever heard of restraining a sick child by hand?"

Her voice was raising and Percy cowered away.

But another figure was entering the room from the door behind them, and Percy twirled warily from his place on the floor to watch the intruder.

She was an old woman dressed in traditional shalwar and kurta, her scarf loose around her hair up in a stern grey bun, eyes sharp behind her glasses. 

"Aunt Muriel!" He gasped. 

Great Aunt Muriel paused in her commanding walk across the small room and shot Percy a measured glance. 

"Percy," she said gently, and came to stand next to him, resting a firm but reassuring hand on his shoulder. Percy sank against her skirt, relieved. He knew no one quite so fierce as his Great Aunt Muriel and felt suddenly reassured that everything was coming back into rights. 

"Molly," she said sharply, "lower your voice. Don't frighten the poor child."

Percy sank deeper into her skirt, despite the sudden thought that he was much too old to be doing so. He pushed the thought away and buried himself behind her. 

She pressed his hand gently into his shoulder. 

"Percy, " her tone was gentle, but brokered no argument, "they're going to have to look at your arm."

Percy whimpered with fear, shrinking away from the witches he didn't know. 

"Let Mom do it," he whispered. 

Aunt Muriel sighed, and Percy was aware of an argument happening around him: Molly saying that it had been too many years since her Mediwitch training, Muriel reminding her that Percy reacted terribly badly to anyone's wand other than his family's. Finally, his mother seemed to cave to his Aunt's indomitable will and reluctantly was asking the other witches to review the wand movements with her. 

Aunt Muriel was helping Percy to stand up and led him back to the little hospital bed he had so recently escaped from.

He sat warily on the corner of the bed, his Aunt holding his good hand beside him. With her hand tucked comfortably around his, he was finally able to take in his surroundings better: he was in a small hospital bed in a windowless room. Two witches in long green robes were demonstrating wand movements to his mother. He eyed their wands warily, but it seemed his mother approved of the witches and was interacting with them civilly. 

"Aunt Muriel," he said hesitantly, "Are those mediwitches?"

"They are, Percy, " she agreed gently. 

"Then am I in St Mungo's?" He asked her, watching as his mother frowned and flicked her wrist carefully.

"You are, dear," she agreed.

He tore his eyes away from the witches and gaped up at Aunt Muriel. 

He started with surprise at noticing how young she looked; her eyes and hands were wrinkled, yes, but her skin wasn't a messy cobweb, skin wrinkled to the point of drooping like his memories told him she should look. 

"You're so young, Aunt Muriel!" He exclaimed.

Aunt Muriel gaped back at him for a moment and then tilted her head back, opened her mouth so that her sharp white teeth stood out against her olive skin, and laughed. 

Percy kicked his feet against the metal sides of the hospital bed, discomfited at her mirth.

She wiped at a tear that fell along her cheek and looked at him with a helpless smile. 

"Oh, boy!" She said fondly, patting his cheek, "It's been a long time since anyone has said that to me." She dampened her smile, seeming to sense his embarrassment. "We're going to get along just fine."

Percy opened his mouth at the questions that particular statement brought up for him, but his mother was coming over to the bed, looking at him resolutely. 

She kneeled before him on the bed and gently took both her hands to either side of his face, commanding his attention. 

"Percy," she said, using a soft tone and speaking slowly, as if she expected him not to understand, "Mommy is going to use some magic to fix your arm, all right?"

Her tone frightened and soothed him at once and he felt himself grow solemn, quit kicking his legs against the bed railings. 

"All right," he agreed in a wobbly voice, suddenly aware again of how small he was, how powerless, "Will it hurt ?"

His mother's almond brown eyes filled with unexpected tears at the question. 

"No dear," she said gently, patting his cheek, "It won't hurt a bit. You'll see." 

She frowned at him sternly. 

"Now Percy, Mommy is going to take her wand out and do some magic so that she can help you. Be a brave boy and trust Mommy."

Percy started at her red-brown eyes, concerned at all the warnings she was giving him. Was it really going to be so bad?

"All right," he agreed hesitantly, and she slowly pulled out her wand and cast a number of spells. 

The first took away the hot pain straining down his arm, and the second set his bone with a clack. 

Molly leaned back away from him, patted his cheek again. 

"All done, my brave boy, " she said gently. Percy blinked at her in amazement. 

"That's it?" He asked her, surprised at all the build up for so little outcome. 

His Mom stood and smiled fondly down at him.

Again Percy was surprised by how plump and healthy she looked, how vibrant and young. 

"That's it, dear," she agreed, and looked away to frown again at the Mediwitches. "I have to go speak now with your Healer," she said. "But I'll be back in just a flash."

"I want to come with you," Percy answered, jumping to his feet beside her.

"No, dear," she said firmly, "It's not for little ears to hear."

She sent a stern look at him. "You stay here with Aunt Muriel, and stay out of trouble while I'm gone, or you'll be cleaning the chicken coops on your own for a week!"

Percy gasped with indignation, too stunned by her threat to argue. By the time he had opened his mouth to respond indignantly that she couldn't treat him like a little boy anymore, he was a grown man for Merlin's sakes, his mother had already swept out of the room, the mediwitches trailing behind her. 

He glared at the door slamming behind her, and ran after it, pulling as hard as he could at it, but it wouldn't open for him. 

He slammed his fists against it, a rage building in him that seemed strangely incongruent. 

He glared up at Aunt Muriel, who was coming to stand beside him. 

"It's not fair!" He shouted, "they're talking about me, after all!" 

"It's not fair," she agreed, "you have a right to feel angry."

That reassurance, surprising and comforting to hear from an adult, stopped him in his tracks. 

"I deserve to hear it!" He said, petulantly staring up at Aunt Muriel. 

"Perhaps you do, at that," she murmured, and looked him over with a shrewd eye. 

"Do you promise to stay calm and not to hit yourself or others if you listen to this? And ask me any questions about things you don't understand?"

Percy nodded, suddenly hopeful.

"Yes," he said.

"All right then Percy, step back. I'm using my wand."

He took four big wary steps behind her at those words, and she waved her hand in a complicated pattern at the door.

A window opened in the door and Percy could suddenly hear the voices in the hallway coming into the room. 

He was surprised again that his Aunt had given him so many warnings about the magic when so little had happened. He had expected explosions from the tone of warning in her voice.

He stepped forward hesitantly, looking at her with wide eyes as he reached towards the window.

"It's all right, Percy," she reassured him, "You can touch it. They can't see you, but you can see them."

"I've never seen this spell before," Percy said in wonder as he watched his Mom argue with a short, dark Healer. But he didn't give his Aunt a chance to respond, intrigued at the argument unfolding before him as the two mediwitches he had attacked stood stiffly beside the Healer as his mother yelled at them all.

"Who's that?" He asked, pointing at the petite Healer with long dark hair and a silver bangle at her wrist. Her green robes were embroidered with golden birds, unlike the plain robes of the mediwitches beside her.

"Healer Kaur is a pediatric specialist," Aunt Muriel answered, "she's been called in from France to consult on your case. Now hush dear, I'm trying to listen." 

Percy shut his mouth closed with a snap and blushed. He should be listening too, he knew. 

"-he's obviously not ready to come home, what are you thinking, discharging him?" His mother was red faced, gesturing wildly and glaring at the impassive Healer.

"Mrs. Weasley," the Healer answered firmly, holding her hand up in a gesture of supplication, "I understand your concern, I really do, but what are the alternatives? He's medically stable. And a hospital is no place for a child long term, no matter how upset he gets sometimes. We will be in touch daily while he settles in at home. Besides, he's at his calmest when he's around his family."

Her accent was lilting and Percy struggled a bit to understand it, but he thought he got her major points.

"Upset? You call that getting upset? Getting upset is when Ginny whines because I haven't given her a cookie, or Ron gets grumpy and yells at the twins for teasing him. My child just violently attacked two mediwitches after having a panic attack and attempting to escape his room for no reason, and you're telling me his problem is that he gets upset sometimes? How exactly do you expect me to manage with him like this at home? I have six other children, you know!"

Healer Kaur raised her eyebrows. 

"You have family waiting in the room with your son at this very moment, who has offered to come and stay with you, help you with your son."

Percy shot a look at Aunt Muriel, and she nodded solemnly at him, confirming it.

"And keep in mind, Mrs. Weasley," Healer Kaur was continuing, "that he hadn't had his calming draught today. This is the first time he's had a panic attack in a week."

"Potions!" Molly threw up her hands in the air. "That's your solution? He was dosed to his gills when I last saw him, sleeping most of the day! He could barely keep his eyes open through a simple conversation with me! I won't have him on Potions for the rest of his life!"

Healer Kaur sighed, grimaced, rubbing her forehead, her face scrunched up in a funny way Percy couldn't interpret. 

He wondered if she was angry with his mother.

He pressed his nose against the seeming glass window his Aunt had made to watch them closer, his hands tight against the door frame. 

"I admit he was overmedicated when I first saw him," she said slowly, "But I've been slowly titrating his dosages down. I really don't recommend taking him off it all together. You've seen how easily he gets scared."

"And how exactly do you think I'm going to pay for all these potions anyway?"

"Augusta Longbottom offered--"

"Augusta! I'm beholden enough to Augusta as it is..." Molly went on, but Percy was suddenly too tired to listen. 

He drifted away from the door and sat back down heavily on his bed.

Aunt Muriel followed him.

She waved her wand at the door and the voices in the hallway quieted, the window pane fading slowly back into wood.

He sat quietly for a moment, leaning instinctively towards his Aunt. She put her arm around him and he sank into her side gratefully.

"Aunt Muriel," he said after a silence where he had time to consider the conversation more fully, "Am I insane?"

She rubbed his shoulder gently.

"No, sweetheart," she said, "But you've been through an awful ordeal. You're frightened, that's all."

He looked up at her quizzically, at her deep brown eyes that seemed so knowing.

"But I can't remember anything!" He protested. But visions of blood and dust suddenly belied this, and he sank more deeply into her side, stunned quiet again. "What happened?" He asked meekly. He tried to push into his memories but found only a fog of destruction and war, terror that was belied by his Great Aunt's warm arms around him.

He did not like the trembling in his lips as he asked.

Aunt Muriel pressed him closer to her side.

"We don't know exactly dear," she said with a long sigh, "That's the problem. Your parents found you outside late one night on the summer solstice. You were lying by the creek, passed out. The ground around you was scorched by powerful magic that no one has been able to identify. Your mother had woke up after seeing a flash of spell fire in the air so bright it looked like lightning. She checked in all the kid's rooms, but you were the only one missing. She and Arthur nearly went crazy. Nothing like that has happened since-" but here Aunt Muriel paused, her voice breaking.

But Percy nodded, silent under her arm. 

"Since the war," he agreed quietly, thinking of his nightmares of Ginny's body, lying pale and red with wet blood on the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley, of Fred lying cold and dead on the floor of Hogwarts, of George laughing as he fought Fenrir in the fields around a burning London... he shivered and squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of images.

"Quite so," Aunt Muriel agreed faintly, and then seemed to shake herself, continuing more firmly, "Your mother found you after hours of hunting around the property for you. The Aurors were called in, the neighbours, every one of the family from the great Aunts on down came out to hunt for you--" 

Percy sat up in amusement. 

"The other pureblood families came to look for me?" He asked in bemusement.

"The war is over, Percy," his Aunt said a might testily, "and they are family."

Percy crinkled his nose. 

"But really, those stuck up princesses came to trek through our forest?"

It was a strange image forming in his head, Narcissa Malfoy crackling through the uncleared bush behind his house, her wand light shining blue in the foggy summer night as they hunted for one small, lost little boy... goosebumps pricked along his arms at the strange image. 

"Most likely they wanted to prove they had nothing to do with it," Aunt Muriel sniffed, and Percy settled back into her arms at this more familiar disdain. It fit better with his ideas of the Malfoys, the remaining Blacks. "No one can afford that kind of suspicion any more, not when things are finally getting back to normal." Her voice trailed off and her eyes seemed to be looking to something far away. Percy squirmed, and she continued, faltering:

"But when your Mom found you, you were screaming about You Know Who, and about needing to protect your brothers..."

She trailed off again and held him closer.

But Percy stiffened at the mention of his brothers. Images of blackened bodies, blood and gruesome death masks flashed through his mind, one grown face after another, lying dead on the street (Ginny), or on the floor of Hogwarts (Fred) or going missing one day, never to return (Bill)...

"I want to see them," he said, straightening up and pushing away from Aunt Mutiel.

She pursed her lips at him, her expression unreadable. 

"It's fortunate then," she said, "We're going home as soon as your Mom stops arguing with that Healer."

"But will she let me?" He asked, skeptical.

"She seemed dead set against it."

Aunt Muriel rose up from the bed, wiping imaginary dust off her kameez. 

"Yes dear," she said absently, going to the one small wardrobe in the room and beginning to root through children's clothes in it, "Your mother was losing that argument."

Percy wrinkled his nose.

"She was?" He asked doubtfully, trailing behind Aunt Muriel and putting on the shoes and socks she was passing him from the cupboard obediently.

"She was," she assured him, "And anyway we can't afford to have you in the hospital any longer."

Percy nodded. The fact of his family's deep poverty was one constant he could easily understand.

"How long have I been in here for?" Percy asked. 

"Three weeks," his Aunt answered, taking a trunk out of her pocket and enlarging it, and started passing Percy his clothing, who folded it and put it away mechanically.

"Weeks?" He gasped, staring in dismay at his Aunt. 

"But how could we afford it?" 

"Don't worry about that, Percy," she said absently, "the larger family has taken care of it."

Percy folded the last of his robes, took the battered comic books his Aunt handed him and threw them with dismay into the trunk.

"It's Mrs. Longbottom, isn't it?" He asked, suddenly remembering his mother's comment about owing Augusta Longbottom. 

"What did she do, promise Ginny's hand to Neville in marriage?"

Aunt Muriel turned away from the trunk and frowned at him. 

"Nothing so permanent," she answered primly, and Percy remembered with a deep blush that of course her marriage to his long dead Great Uncle had been an arranged one. 

"Your mother merely agreed to tutor Mrs. Longbottom's grandson."

"Neville?" Percy asked skeptically, shoving his hands into his pockets, "But what's the big deal about doing that? Surely Mrs. Longbottom can afford her own tutors, or teach him everything he needs to know herself."

"Ordinarily, yes that would be true. But they think he might be a Squib. He's almost 6 years old, and he hasn't shown a lick of magic yet. Arthur has agreed to teach him a bit about Muggle technology, in case he has to make do with Muggle ways one day. Now I think it's much too early to start worrying, but Augusta's got a lot on her plate, trying to care for her Uncle, what with his encroaching dementia-'" Aunt Muriel cut herself off, staring away from him and twisting her lips into a funny shape.

"But why am I telling you all this?" She trailed off, watching the bird fly cartwheels along the top of the walls and fiddling with the embroidery on her kameez.

Their thoughts were interrupted as Molly stormed into the room and then drew to a short stop, taking in the sight of Percy in his shoes and standing next to Aunt Muriel, the trunk fully packed and standing beside them.

She seemed to visibly stop herself from saying whatever she had been about to say and nodded curtly at Muriel instead.

"Good," she said, "you have him all packed. We're leaving now."

Percy felt suddenly strained, and looked up to Aunt Muriel for reassurance. She nodded at him.

"We're going home, dear" she said gently. "You'll get to see your siblings again."

At those words, Percy broke away from his Aunt Muriel and grabbed his mother’s hand, trotting beside her as she walked through St Mungo's busy halls, barely paying attention to the busy halls around him as they walked out of the ward labelled Pediatrics and into a hallway deserted but for one flushed looking mother, cooing at her new baby as her husbands trailed beside them, holding bags and baskets and balloons that sang an off key congratulations. 

They drew to a halt before the elevator as Percy tugged insistently at his mother's hand: "They're really all right?" He asked her, his tone rising with his nerves, "Fred and George and Ginny and Bill? They're okay?"

Molly stabbed at the elevator buttons and glared at the balloons that threatened to drown her out, as the couple queued up behind them for the elevator.

"Yes, dear," she said in an irritated voice, and then sighed as Percy began to back away from the elevator, edgy at having someone stand so close behind him.

She swished her wand at the couple and the balloons were suddenly silent.

Percy turned to stare unabashedly at the couple. The man's face was caught in a strange oh of surprise; the woman seemed to hold her sleeping baby closer to her chest.

"Sorry," Molly sighed, sounding frazzled, "My son gets very nervous at loud noises."

The mother smiled a small smile, and Molly sighed again, shifting down close to Percy.

"Stop staring Percy, it's rude."

The elevator dinged behind them and Percy jumped around as the doors shifted open behind them, twisting back around to study the empty elevator.

But his mother was herding him in through the doors before he had a chance to thoroughly examine it, and he leaped back around as the other couple walked in after them, watching the mother and father warily while his mother fiddled with the buttons.

"He's been through an ordeal," she explained over Percy's head to the woman, "But you're fine now, Percy, calm down."

"My brothers, Ginny," he insisted, his voice rising again, squeezing his mother’s hand tighter.

"They're fine, Percy, Fred and George came yesterday, to visit, don't you remember?"

But Percy shook his head in fright. He couldn't remember at all.

His mother sighed and the elevator dinged again.

Percy jumped.

The doors opened and they were walking into the main lobby of St Mungo's, busy with witches and wizards of all ages, dressed in a dazzling variety and colours of clothing.

Aunt Muriel had grabbed his other hand and leaned her head down towards him as they walked briskly across the lobby and towards a line in front of the fireplace. 

"It's all right Percy," she said, "you've been having a lot of bad dreams. But your family is all okay. You'll see. They're all at the Burrow, waiting for you to come home."

"Even Bill and Charlie?," he asked her, his voice suddenly caught in his throat, "they're home too?"

"Yes, child," she said gently, "even Bill and Charlie. It's summer holidays. They're both home, back from school."

"Back from school?" Percy echoed, confused.

They were drawing forward in the line and stood before the fire, the heat drying the sudden sweat on his brow.

"You'll see with your own eyes soon enough. They're safe and sound and excited to see you."

"Percy," his mother was kneeling beside him asked to the fireplace, green Floo powder in her hands. "You remember how to do this?" 

Percy nodded, watching the wrinkles form in his mother’s forehead. 

"Yes," he said, watching as the wrinkles smoothed out at his answers: "you throw the powder in the fire and step in when it turns green, and say the name of where you're going. "

"That's right," she responded, her voice relieved as she stood up. "I'll go first, and then you, and then Muriel will follow us in last."

"But is it safe?" Percy hissed, staring at the line gathering behind him, "You know, for people like us?"

He watched the wrinkles climb back up on his mother’s forehead.

"What kind of people are we, Percy?" She asked, her voice weary and dangerous all at once.

But Percy clamped his jaw shut, tensing as he studied the angry looking faces behind them. He wasn't going to whisper the word "Blood traitors, " with all those people standing around. 

Molly shook her head, seeming to realize she wouldn't win the staring contest with him. 

"Yes, Percy, it's perfectly safe. Just watch how I do it," she said, and threw the green powder in and ducked into the hearth, turning around to look at him, her eyes a depth of concern in the flames. "The burrough!" She cried, and the flames twirled into a cyclone and took her away from him.

Percy let out a startled cry in spite of himself, reaching towards the empty fireplace where his mother had been, and then quickly pulled his hand back as the fire threatened to burn him.

"It's all right Percy," his Aunt was saying, grasping his shoulder again. "Would you like to do it with me?" He hesitated, then nodded up at her.

Who knew what was waiting for him at the other end of that fire. 

"Just a little touch of magic, dear, " she told him, and waved her wand over his feet. He swayed slightly and she picked him up as if he were a small child, smiling at him as they stood eye to eye.

"You see?" She said, "light as a feather," and he smiled shyly back at her as she threw the powder into the fire and ducked in to the hearth with him clinging to her.

The world twisted and swirled around him and he squeezed his eyes shut until he felt himself grow steady again.

"Percy!" A small voice called his name, and Percy opened his eyes.

His brothers and sister were all standing crowded round the living room hearth, their eyes bright and cheerful. And as the little girl was barging towards him, and he couldn't believe it because it was Ginny, but why was she so tiny, her cheeks still plump with little girl fat?

He threw himself out of Aunt Muriel's arms and towards the crowd of red headed siblings rushing towards him, a grin cracking his face open wide.

"Ginny!" He cried, "Fred! George! Bill! Oh Merlin help me, you're all here, you're all right!" Ginny threw herself bodily towards him, and Fred and George followed suit, not to be out done. Percy collapsed to the floor with a howl of laughter, and his siblings piled on top of him.

"You're alive!" He cried, his hands stretching out to touch his siblings back, their ludicrously red air, their breath hot on his face and Fred's knees digging into his shin, "I can't believe it! I can't believe you're all all right! I can't believe you're all alive!"

He was sobbing uncontrollably now, as his parents groaned and pulled the kids off him so he could grasp Bill's face in his hands, Merlin, had he really ever been that fresh faced and small, pulling Charlie into one arm and Bill into the other, overcome with a relief that hurt so bad it was pure.

"You're alive!" He said again, pressing his face deep into Charlie's chest as if to make sure. It had been so long since he had held his oldest brothers that he could have clung to them for hours, but Bill was pulling back from him, a puzzled look on his face.

"Of course we're alive, Percy," he said slowly, "What did you expect? "

But Percy was suddenly dumbfounded by the question, unable to answer.

Images flashed in his mind of blood and death, grime and explosions. 

Aunt Muriel was by his side, holding his shoulder.

"It’s and all right Percy," she said gently, "you see? They're all okay, just like me and your Mom told you."

He nodded slowly, taking in the bright sight of his siblings faces, looking quizzically at him.

Aunt Muriel led him to where Ron was sitting quietly in the corner.

His little face was stained with tears,his lips trembling.

"Are you all right, Percy?" He asked quietly as Percy knelt down in front of him.

Percy took in the sight of him, whole and well, with both his legs and arms still working and fought against a conflicting memory of a sibling who used a floating wheelchair to get everywhere, missing both legs and half of one arm...

Nightmares, his Aunt Muriel had said. Percy shivered. They felt so real.

But there was his brother, whole before him, living proof that his memories were wrong and his Aunt and mother had been telling the truth; his family was whole and well, if shockingly young.

"Yes, Ron," he said softly, "Everything is all right again."

And he opened both his arms to welcome his brother into a long hug.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. A'Jiao

Percy found being at home again very disorienting. He kept expecting different faces to greet him and started every time one of his family members walked into the room, needing to study them for a long time, scrambling through faded memories, until he could reassure himself it was really them.

His siblings seemed similarly spooked by his presence. They would stare back at him, asking in tremulous voices, "Percy, are you okay?"

This refrain tended to haunt him, and he would often find himself deeply confused, frowning at the car in his Dad's workshop ("Didn't Ron crash that into the forest?" "I should certainly hope not, son!") Or staring at George's ears in wonderment ("You've got both your ears." "Course I do, Perce"). All this inevitably followed by the question, "Are you okay Percy?" At his ensuing frustration or worry. 

Most bewildering to Percy and his family of all was his sudden hatred of his pet rat, Scabbers.

The second day he was back from the hospital, Ron brought him the rat with a shy smile, cradling the sleeping animal in his hands and passing it to Percy with tender delight. Percy immediately whipped the rat across the room as hard as he could. It was only Molly's automatic wand movement to catch anything that went flying through the air in the Weasley household that saved the rat from having its neck broken against the wall.

"Percy!" His mother admonished him. "Be careful!"

She passed the traitorous rat to a hysterical Ron, who cuddled him close to his chest while glaring balefully at Percy.

Percy opened his mouth to warn Ron of the dangers of the rat but was chilled by a sudden fear that speaking of the danger would make it even worse.

"Sorry, Mom," he muttered, "He just..." he trailed off, thinking, and settled on, "he startled me."

The rat squirmed out of Ron's tight grip despite Ron's red faced protests and began running across the kitchen floor, its nails scrabbling a percussion of sharp scratches into the wood, only to be captured by another sharp twist of his mother's wand. Molly picked up the temporarily immobilized rat and handed him back to Percy. 

Ron was blubbering that Percy had scared Scabbers away, and why should he get to keep him, but Percy was too absorbed in a staring contest with the rat to pay Ron any mind.

The rat looked at Percy.

Percy looked at the rat.

They shared a moment of pure mutual distaste.

He grimaced and tucked its heaving warm body under his shirt, where the rat couldn't see anything more of his family's kitchen.

"I'll put him back in his cage," he promised his mother.

She sighed, seeming to deflate at seeing his obsequious manner, his lowered eyes and the slump of his shoulders, and lowered her hands off her hips.

"You do that, dear," she said.

"He always escapes that cage anyway," his brother objected, wiping at his tears and leaving messy streaks on his cheeks.

Ron had been playing in the garden earlier and his tears mixed with the dirt on his hands to leave a trail of grime smeared across his face.

Molly fussed at Ron's face with a dishcloth as Percy considered Ron's words.

"That's true, Ron," he agreed soberly. "Can you spell the cage stronger?" He asked his Mom.

"He always comes back," Molly objected, managing to get one last swipe at Ron's face before he squirmed away from her, "and I'm right in the middle of getting dinner ready. I'll get to it after supper."

Scabbers was already starting to squiggle out from under the influence of whatever freezing charm Molly had put on him and Percy gripped him more tightly, bundling him into his shirt. 

"I need it done now," Percy insisted.

Molly ran to the stove and grabbed a pot of potatoes that were starting to overflow into the stove fire. 

"Ask Aunt Muriel," she said, "I'm a bit occupied here, Perce," and waved her hand in dismissal.

Percy wandered towards the downstairs dining room that had been converted to serve for Aunt Muriel's bedroom with Ron lingering after him and knocked on the sliding wooden doors.

"Yes," she called, and peeked out from between the doors.

"Ahh, what is it, Percy?"

"My pet rat," he answered, gesturing at the lump in his shirt. "He always escapes his cage. Can you help?"

Aunt Muriel wrinkled her nose, looking at the squirming lump in Percy's shirt.

"Your parents have allowed a rat in this house?" She asked skeptically. "As a pet? In my day, those vermin would be killed for daring to step foot on the doorstep. They carry disease, you know."

Ron whimpered at that, protesting,

"He's not diseased! He's perfectly healthy and he's our pet!"

Aunt Muriel sniffed, as the rat in Percy's shirt twisted harder at her words.

"All the better then, to be sure he can't escape," Percy said, and Aunt Muriel smiled fondly at Percy and accompanied him to his room, Ron still trailing after them.

*~HP~*

Somehow it came to be that Percy was to see Pandora Lovegood, their neighbour, for acupuncture treatments.

He and Aunt Muriel had decided to walk the 6 km to the Lovegood's, and were winding their way through a trail in the woodlands between their properties. Aunt Muriel was gathering herbs as she went, and pointing out others to Percy.

She'd ask him questions about the various plants and flowers as they wandered along, which Percy always seemed to know the answer to.

They were resting by a stream as Percy began to pester Aunt Muriel with questions:

"But how are we able to afford daily acupuncture treatments?"

"Really, child, that's none of your concern." 

"But it's my fault we have to pay for all this! I want to know how."

Percy's lip was starting to tremble, and Aunt Muriel sighed, rubbing her knees.

"We're gathering the yarrow for Mrs. Lovegood," she answered.

"But yarrow is very common," Percy objected, "surely Mrs. Lovegood could just pick some for herself?"

Aunt Muriel looked at him with a penetrating stare.

"Indeed Percy, it is quite easy to find," she agreed, standing up and gesturing for Percy to bring her the yarrow he had gathered, "but it is said to be more powerful when a child gathers it. And Luna's a bit too young yet to really go out harvesting wild herbs that much."

Percy considered this information as he passed the yarrow to his Great Aunt. 

"Does Mrs. Lovegood practice divination with the yarrow?" He asked slowly.

Aunt Muriel startled, glancing back at him as they continued along the path beside the stream, which barely had any water left trickling through it this late in August. 

"Goodness dear," she muttered to herself, "Nothing much escapes you, does it?"

Percy could only shrug hopelessly, and they went back to picking their way through the trail, his Aunt Muriel slashing her wand to prune the grasses and branches that had overgrown the path as they went.

"But does she?" Continued Percy.

Aunt Muriel cut her wand at an errant branch, scowling.

"I don't know Percy, and it's rude to ask."

"But why is it rude to ask?"

"Because, Percy, then people would wonder about what she'd Seen. And then everyone would try to twist the fates to their liking. Which is half of how prophecy is problematic in the first place. People's superstitions get ahold of them twice as bad with a prophecy. And then they end up creating the very situation they were told to avoid."

Percy swallowed hard, thinking about his nightmares. He stopped in his tracks, a horrific idea coming to his mind:

"Do prophecies always come to pass?" He asked faintly, thinking of his visions of Fred (dead on the ground of a huge stone castle he imagined was Hogwart's), of Ginny (dead in a pool of wet red blood...).

His Aunt Muriel was kneeling in front of him, holding his hands.

"Percy," she said, her dark eyes focused on his light ones; "Percy, it's all right. I'm right here."

She squeezed his hands lightly. 

"We're right here in the forest behind your house," she said "you're nine years old. The year is 1985. The war is over. You're safe. Say it with me now, Percy," she said, and squeezed his hands as he repeated the phrases with her:

"I'm 9 years old. The year is 1985..."

It was a refrain they recited together often, whenever Percy had his "episodes" (as his mother called them), or his "day mares" (as his Aunt Muriel called them). He breathed out slowly in time with his Aunt Muriel until his panic subsided.

Tears rushed to his eyes as soon as he was calm enough to allow them, and he let himself be pulled towards his Aunt's bosom and be held next to her heart for a while until his hitching tears subsided.

"There, there, sweetheart," she shushed him and he pressed himself closer against her, listening to the birds chirp in the forest around them.

"But do they always come true?" He half whispered into the buttons of her blouse, terrified again at the thought.

Aunt Muriel pulled away, so she could wipe his tears and look him in the eyes. 

"No, dear," she said softly, "And I'm not convinced you're a Seer anyway. Most true Seers can't remember what they See."

Percy pulled back, suddenly chilled despite the warm summer breeze.

"But do some Seers remember," he insisted; the terrible thought now sown, it would not uproot itself.

Aunt Muriel sighed, took his hand and gestured for him to keep walking. 

"Mrs. Lovegood," she said after a moment, "is a very powerful, very wise witch. Xenophilius doesn't know how lucky he was to find her. If anyone can answer your questions, Percy, it's her."

Percy plodded alongside his Aunt, brooding.

"Is that why you're taking me to her, then?" He asked.

Aunt Muriel studied him for a moment, adjusted her dupatta.

"Mrs. Lovegood is skilled in many areas, Percy," she explained slowly. "She comes from a renowned line of Chinese medicine practitioners. As I said, Xenophilius was lucky to meet her."

They were reaching the end of the forest, and were faced with hills of heather, the Lovegood 's rook shaped house rising up above them on the peak of the slope.

They began to climb the hills, huffing in the late summer sun.

"But then how can we afford this, with only a little yarrow to pay her!" Percy was back to worrying about a more familiar topic.

Aunt Muriel stopped, catching her breath and shaking her head at him.

"Percy, child," she said, her voice strained, "these are adult worries. Leave them for your parents to sort out, and trust it will be okay."

Percy's hands clenched to fists. The sun beat down on his head, glared too bright in his eyes. He was thirsty and tired and wanted to sit down.

"But I can't!" He cried, and then he did give in to temptation and sat on the side of the hill in defeat. "Healer Kaur said I don't know how to stop thinking all about these things!"

"You heard that?" Aunt Muriel murmured, and then shook her head wryly. "Of course you overheard that."

Percy wasn't sure whether he was supposed to respond to that or not, so he didn't. He sat staring at his Aunt Muriel from his seat amongst the meadow thistle. She seemed like a force as natural as the hills, standing with her long scarf whipping in the wind.

She offered her hand to Percy, and he stood up next to her. 

They began walking again.

"Look child," Aunt Muriel sighed, as they continued the climb up the steep hill, "if it soothes your worries to know this, the Lovegoods aren't being paid in money. Your parents have agreed to give them full access to the woodlands on the back of your property for the next year."

Percy raised his eyebrows.

"A year and a day?" He asked, carefully. 

She shook her head in amusement. Percy knew that this would strengthen the Lovegood's access to the magic of the ley lines, increase their ability to Apparate to and from their lands; a boon to anyone who struggled to Apparate.

"Where do you learn these things?" She murmured, shaking her head. Again, Percy didn't know if he was supposed to answer her or not.

But he was distracted from pondering this too long, for as they crested the hill he was able to see a figure with straw coloured hair practicing fluid forms with a sword with an elegantly curled blade. Tassels whipped on the end of the sword, providing a streak of counter moves to her dance like forms. She was lithe and strong and unmistakably dangerous. The sword flashed with sunlight as she whipped it through a series of martial poses.

A small girl with dirty blond hair sat in the grass, watching her. 

Percy felt his jaw drop as Mrs. Lovegood ended her forms, crouching low in the grass, and then bowed.

"Forget acupuncture," Percy blurted out, "I want to learn to do that."

~*HP*~

Seeing Mrs. Lovegood up close, Percy experienced a moment of strange dislocation.

She seemed familiar, almost unbearably so, with her dark almond shaped eyes, her sandy coloured hair, her high cheekbones. But little details seemed wrong; she was a bit too short and her nose a bit too delicate. Percy studied her quietly as she shook his Aunt Muriel's hand. A lump of emotion he couldn't identify swelled in his throat when she turned her attention to him, shaking his hand. 

"Luna?" He blurted out.

She smiled softly, patted his hand.

"No dear," she said, nodding to the daughter who carried her sword case with a solemn face, "that's my daughter."

Percy looked at the small girl who was struggling to hold the bulky case and then at the elegant woman before him, confused.

"My name is A'Jiao," she explained, taking her daughter's hand and leading them all up the curving stairs to their high tower of a house.

"I thought you were called Pandora," Percy objected as they circled up to the second story of the house.

"That's my English name," A'Jiao shrugged, as if that explained it all.

"But why do you need an English name?" 

Percy persisted. 

They had come to a loft overlooking the rest of the house, and a table was sitting with meadow flowers in the centre of the room.

A'Jiao gestured at the table, and they sat.

A'Jiao shrugged.

"People aren't used to Chinese names" she said, "And they struggle to say a name they don't recognize."

Percy tested the name out in his mouth a couple of times, and then looked, mystified, at his Aunt Muriel. 

"But it's not that hard to say," he objected.

Aunt Muriel only smiled fondly at him and agreed,

"Quite right, Percy," and though it seemed she approved of what he said, that didn't answer his questions at all.

He furrowed his brow but decided to remain silent for once. 

A'Jiao was offering them tea in small, elaborately carved tea cups with no handles. Percy peered at the green colour of the tea curiously and warmed both his hands on the mug.

Aunt Muriel was giving A'Jiao the yarrow and she studied it carefully. 

"You picked this, Percy?" She asked, sitting down across from him and rubbing the leaves between her thumb and forefinger.

"I did," he agreed, fidgeting as she studied the plant.

She twisted the stem back and forth, studying it closely.

Luna half dropped the tea cup she'd been sipping from and A'Jiao started.

She smiled at her daughter, pulling Luna into her lap, and then whispered something in her ear. Luna squirmed out of her mother's grip and left them, running off to one of the rooms behind them.

"We'll have privacy now," A'Jiao explained, and went back to studying the flowers wordlessly.

"You've recently suffered a great setback," 

She frowned, twirling the stem between her thumb and forefinger until her eyes grew soft, "a great magic has touched your mind, touched it with age, with unbearable sorrow. This magic is known to you, familiar as your own, and yet it has shifted you, changed you, stolen the innocence of your childhood from you. You have suffered greatly in the hopes that in carrying the touch of this foreign, adult thoughts, you could protect your loved ones from harm. "

Her voice had a sing song like quality and Percy felt himself pulled into watching the fluttering leaves of the spinning flower as she spoke, tingles of electricity running up and down his neck.

She settled the flower down on the table slowly and met Percy's eyes with a small, sad smile.

Silence enveloped them, a crystalline moment of purity, and then A'Jiao dropped her eyes.

"Very similar to what the Healers said," Aunt Muriel's voice was unsteady. "Though they could not tell if he had burnt himself out with a huge burst of his own protective magic, or if another sought to possess him-"

Aunt Muriel's voice broke off.

Percy's eyes widened. No one had told him that they had worried he had been mentally attacked before.

"Fear not Percy," A'Jiao reassured him, "you're not possessed. The only magic I see in you is your own. Though I would like to examine you more closely if you consent to it, to look more carefully at what has happened to your mind."

Percy looked at Aunt Muriel, who nodded at him, and A'Jiao turned her back to him to conjure an examining table and then gestured for him to lie on it.

She studied his eyes, his hands, his tongue, took his pulse and asked various random seeming questions. 

She pulled back from him and sat down next to the table. Percy sat up, suddenly worried.

"Is it bad?" He asked.

"Your core has been warped by a great magic," she answered softly, "the same magic that affected your mind. You've been having strange visions?"

Percy faltered, swallowed.

"I was worried they were prophecies," Percy managed to whisper.

"They are visions of a world which might have been, but they are not a world which will definitely come to pass," A'Jiao answered.

She sighed, rubbing his palms in rhythmic circles as Percy absorbed this.

"Poor child, that you have to endure this. It is better to consider them nightmares, for that is all they are in this time, the unproven fantasies of a disturbed mind."

"But what if they are prophecies?" Percy asked, his voice rising, "Is there anything I can do to prevent this future from coming to pass?"

A clack in the room behind them startled them, and Percy, A'Jiao and Aunt Muriel all turned to look. Luna stood gaping at Percy, having dropped her doll on the floor.

A'Jiao got up swiftly from her chair and picked Luna up, whispering with her furiously before depositing her back behind the door that separated the loft from the rest of the family home. Percy listened at the sound of her small feet running away from the door as A'Jiao frowned.

"I'm sorry," she shook her head to them both. "Luna normally never escapes from Xeno while I'm with clients."

"It's all right," Percy said at the same time Aunt Muriel sniffed a disapproving "Hmmf!"

A'Jiao sat next to Percy again and began to massage his hands again.

"I will teach you how to settle your mind as best I can, Percy," she promised him, "and I ask you to remember that the future is never cast in stone, but constantly changing. It wavers with each of our smallest choices. We are not Fate's fools," she said. "Even if a small amount of what you worry about comes to pass, it does not mean that all of it will. But I can see what a burden you think you carry. Together Percy, perhaps I will teach you to set some of it down."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will gladly take feedback on Chinese naming traditions. I wasn't sure whether or not to keep the A' in front of Jiao, or if it implies her maiden name was Yang? Anyway, for now it is A'Jiao but will gladly take feedback, if just "Jiao" would be more appropriate. Anyway her name is a nod to Empress Chen!


	3. Two trees, enchanted

Percy didn't expect his brothers' return to school to be so hard on him. He cried and clung to Bill for so long that he was almost late for the train. He spent weeks lying in bed after that, refusing to answer to either his mother’s or Muriel’s coaxings to do his chores, and could only be convinced at last when Bill and Charlie promised to write to him every day that he would begin going to A’Jiao’s again.  
On top of all of this, his own schooling wasn't going well. Like most Pure Bloods, the Weasleys were homeschooled by their mother.   
Percy struggled terribly with his writing and would get frustrated by how sloppy his printing was, how easily his hand hurt. Or he would have a thousand things to say but would get tired or distracted before he could get more than a couple of overly complicated sentences on the paper. He would often walk away in frustration, only to be dressed down from his mother. Math was particularly hard for him; he would always get the right answer, but when his mother asked him to explain how he had known it he could only shrug hopelessly and say that it just was accurate.  
He was lying under his bed frame after an especially bad argument with his mother one morning when his Aunt Muriel came to find him.  
"Come on Percy, we're headed to the Lovegoods," she said brusquely, standing with her knee high boots on next to his bed.  
Percy slid out from under the bed on his belly and slowly dusted himself off.  
"Good," Aunt Muriel said, and pursed her lips.  
"Grab a sweater, Percy, it's cool outside."  
They had been taking the Floo ever since his Dad had the connection set up earlier in the summer, but Percy didn't question this change of plans.  
He stomped through the fallen leaves and kicked at pine cones for a while, the walk surprisingly silent other than the omnipresent sound of crickets and birds.  
"Do you and your mother fight often?" Aunt Muriel asked him gently after they'd been walking for a while.  
"No," Percy muttered, pressing his chin further into his collar, and then faltered. "I mean-" he gestured vaguely, "we didn't used to."  
Aunt Muriel only nodded.  
"I see," she said, and did not expand. They continued walking, finding the trail at the edge of the forest.   
"Everything's just so hard Aunt Muriel! I can't write the way I want to, the books Mom gives us are boring baby books, but if I try to write about something bigger, I don't have the time to finish it and it gets too big in my head and I can't get it out fast enough so I have to stop and then I can't finish it," Percy finished miserably and scuffed his toes into the ground.   
Aunt Muriel nodded thoughtfully.  
"Perhaps you need more of a challenge than your current work," she said.  
Percy looked up from the leaves he had been trampling under in surprise.   
"But I can't," he wailed, his emotions getting the better of him, "I'm not as smart as I used to be!"  
The confession devastated him. No one had commented on it yet, but his mother never used to have to talk him through his answers, ask him to explain his work, remind him to sit down and pay attention.  
But his Aunt Muriel was smiling, of all responses!  
"Percy," she said, "your intelligence is obvious to anyone who has talked to you for more than two minutes. You know the answer to any question I ask you, your capacity to make deductions from little information is formidable. Your problem isn't that you're not smart enough; it's that you're bored stiff with the childish drivel your mother is giving you."  
Percy snorted and kicked a pinecone, pleased in spite of himself at his Aunt's endorsement.  
"Good luck convincing Mom of that," he answered, but there was no heat in it.  
"Indeed Percy, I'll be working on that," Aunt Muriel agreed, a fierce note in her voice.  
Percy ducked his chin and smiled into the collar of his sweater, digging his chilled hands into the pockets of his jumper. He didn't quite dare to hope for any change, but if anyone could convince his mother to try something different, it was his Aunt Muriel.  
The walk passed quickly enough. The deep greens of summer had faded to the golds and reds of Autumn, the sky a steely grey and the Earth a deep black soil beneath the trees.  
There were little signs that their small forest was no longer only their own; piles of rocks that A'Jiao had set up stood white against the rain darkened tree trunks. Wild flowers grew where they didn't used to, and fallen branches were cleared from the path without Percy or Aunt Muriel having to do so.  
And so when they heard voices in the woods they were not all together surprised, and glancing in silent agreement with each other, left the trail to follow the sounds of A'Jiao and Luna talking. Their voices seemed to come from the creek bed and they scrambled down the hill together and into the valley.  
"I know it's here Mommy, I dreamed of it!" Luna's high voice floated up to them.  
"We've been looking for a while now Luna," A'Jiao responded, "maybe it was just a dream."   
The mother and daughter were wandering beside the stream bed, hand in hand. Luna was looking up into the tree tops, twisting out of her mother’s strong grip on her hands to peer up at the canopy.  
A’Jiao spotted them and waved them over.   
“Muriel, Percy,” she said, as Luna continued to gaze into the forest, “I wasn’t expecting you so early or we wouldn’t be out here.”  
“Percy needed the walk,” Aunt Muriel said vaguely, waving off A’Jiao’s concerns. “Don’t worry about it.”  
Luna finally managed to pull free of her mother’s hand and was wandering off deeper into the forest, away from the stream.  
Percy swallowed, and then followed behind her.   
He thought he knew what Luna was pursuing. There was a hint of a glimmer of light twinkling occasionally from the thickest part of the woods. It was hidden behind layers of bushes and vines, and he felt himself pulled towards it, magnetically.   
The sounds of the adult’s voices seemed to fade behind them as they pressed through the close-set trees. Branches scratched at Percy’s arms and flies bit at him, he was forced to his knees to crawl underneath the thick bramble. Luna crawled behind him, twigs snapping loudly as she scrambled after him.  
They came to a clearing and stood in awe, gaping at the huge old trees towering before them; an oak and a willow, intertwined. Light was pouring out of the trees, and Percy’s ears buzzed with the sound of magic.  
Luna shielded her eyes, staring at the trees.   
“It’s so beautiful!” she murmured.  
Percy started, looking down to where she stood beside him.   
“You can see it too?” he asked before he could stop himself.   
He was so used to being the only one who could perceive the abnormal that he had become used to doubting his senses at anything extraordinary.   
But Luna only looked puzzled at his question.  
“Of course,” she said, squinting, “it’s so bright!”  
Percy turned back to the tree, and realized that he could see moving shapes within the trees.   
“Do you see figures?” he asked hesitantly.  
“Maybe,” Luna said dubiously, “Yes! I think so!”  
It gave him confidence to trust himself, and slowly the moving lights resolved themselves into a shape of a couple embracing, naked.   
“Oh!” Percy cried, clapping his hand across his mouth. “Luna, don’t look too close.”  
Luna must have been used to the warnings that came with strange magic, because she looked away as soon as he told her to. The figures seemed to realize they were being observed, and again their outlines blurred, fading into a shimmering light.  
Branches fell hard behind them and Percy jumped, snatching Luna next to him.   
She froze, her body tense; and then burst into tears when her mother and Aunt Muriel walked in through the path they had just cut in the thicket. She ran to her mother, leaving Percy feeling sheepish.  
“Children,” A’Jiao said delicately, “what brings you here?’  
Percy opened his mouth to respond, but Luna beat him to it.  
“It’s the tree, Mommy, just like I dreamed of!” she exclaimed, pointing to the trees.  
A’Jiao and Aunt Muriel frowned in the direction of the trees.   
“What’s special about them?” A’Jiao asked gently, but this question left Luna gaping and wordless.   
Aunt Muriel came to stand next to Percy, which gave him the courage to answer A’Jiao’s question:  
“They’re glowing,” he answered quietly.   
Aunt Muriel frowned, but A’Jiao cocked her head to the side, her eyes a knot.   
“Ahh,” she breathed softly, nodding. “So it is, Percy, so it is.”  
Aunt Muriel started in surprise at these words, but A’Jiao was drawing her wand.   
“Stand back children,” she said.  
Luna and Percy obeyed wordlessly.   
She waved her wand in a complicated pattern, murmuring spells so quickly Percy couldn’t make out the beginnings of one word from the end of the other.   
At last, she set her wand at her side and then stumbled.   
Aunt Muriel came to her side and held her elbow. Percy realized A’Jiao was leaning heavily on her.   
“That’s enough for now,” Aunt Muriel murmured, and wordlessly summoned her a glass of water.   
“Thank you, Muriel,” A’Jiao sighed, and gulped the water down greedily.   
“What is it?” Percy dared to ask, after she had passed the glass back to Muriel, who vanished it wandlessly and wordlessly.   
A’Jiao frowned, looking at the tree for a long time.   
“I believe,” she said at last, “it is meant to be a blessing. It is magic which is tied very strongly to you, Percy. It seems to touch myself and Luna as well, although the connection is weaker to us. But whether or not this magic has in fact been a blessing is another question. I believe,” and here A’Jiao seemed suddenly uncomfortable, looking to his Aunt Muriel and clasping her hand unexpectedly, “I believe this is where they found Percy, is it not?”  
Aunt Muriel frowned deeply, her forehead a maze of wrinkles. She looked around the clearing slowly, her body suddenly tense.   
“Yes,” she said softly, “I think it might be. I wasn’t the one who found him, that was his mother, but--” she studied the clearing, her head tilted to the side. “I think she must have come from this direction.”  
Luna was squatting in the dirt, fiddling and playing in the mud.  
“Look Mommy,” she said, “Ashes.”  
Percy looked down, scuffing at the dried grass beneath his feet. The length of the stubble beneath his feet was shorter than around him, and he kicked his foot against a small blackened stump. He looked around the clearing and realized Luna was right: the entire clearing seemed to have been created in a flash of sudden fire; but a strange, unnatural bubble of fire that did not extend to the thick bush around it. Now that he saw the signs, he realized it was obvious; the intertwined trees stood alone in the centre of a circular meadow, a small clearing in a maze of thick bush. Even the trees around the willow and the oak had been stung by fire; their trunks were blackened not just by the rain, but by fire.   
Percy shivered, and stepped back.   
He had heard that he had been found amidst blackened coals, but seeing the evidence of the fire he must have been through was another thing again.  
"Well!" Said A'Jiao, clapping her hands together. Percy started at the noise, too loud in the silent clearing. "We've done all we can here, I think," she said. "We'll leave this mystery to another time, hmm Percy?"  
Percy stared longingly at the trees, wishing he could parse their secrets through staring. But Aunt Muriel took his hand, caught his eye: "Come Percy," she said, and squeezing his hand, "some things are best left alone."  
~☆~

But of course, Percy couldn't leave it alone. He would visit the trees as often as he could sneak away from his family's watchful eyes, spending hours mesmerised by the glowing figures. Sometimes he felt a sense of foreboding watching them, as if the figures were the only bright spot in a world that had turned cruel and angry as he turned his back to it. When this happened, his nightmares plagued him especially badly. But still, he felt himself continually pulled back to three, the figures in it. He wondered if one day he would be able to hear whispers from the tree; sometimes he thought he could, but then always, the sense would leave him and all he would hear would be the wind in the leaves or the light tinkling of the stream.  
A'Jiao found him lying under the trees, one cold December day when the icicles hung off the bare branches of the trees. Percy was watching the clouds roil in the grey sky and did not notice A'Jiao until he heard the clink of her setting clay candle holders on the flat rocks under the skeletal canopy. The trees had long since stripped off their last leaves and were naked against the winter cold.  
"Good morning, Percy," she greeted him, setting out more candles.   
He sat up with a start, embarrassed. A'Jiao was setting out the candles in a circle, and lighting them one by one with a touch of her finger.   
"Good morning A'Jiao," Percy said, coming to sit beside her.   
They watched the candles flicker together.  
"Have you been practicing your meditation?" A'Jiao asked him, as she always did. Percy nodded, mesmerised by the flames.   
"Good," A'Jiao said, stroking his hair fondly. "Practice that now," she said, and raised her palms to the flames and began to chant. The flames grew, a golden orb of light connecting them together in a pulsing, shimmering globe as she chanted, until they were surrounded in a bubble of light. The light sent waves of warmth through Percy, little tingles of relaxation and peace.  
Eventually, A'Jiao stopped chanting and the glow faded.  
Silence reigned in the snow covered clearing, broken only by the sound of ice crackling.  
"What was that?" Percy asked after a long moment.  
A'Jiao smiled at him, her eyes dancing merrily.  
"Magic, Percy," she said. He burst into giggles, his laugh muffled by the snow around them.  
He began helping her to pry the now firm candles off the rocks, studying the runes engraved on them with a curious eye.  
"I've never seen runes like these before," he said, brushing his fingers over the carvings.  
"They're Chinese," she nodded.   
He studied his fingers. They tingled with a sense of power.  
He looked up at her, curious   
"For protection," she explained. "I've warded the area against anyone entering other than you, me and Luna."  
"Not even Aunt Muriel?" He asked automatically.  
A'Jiao shook her head.  
"I'm sorry Percy," she answered. "I trust your Aunt Muriel, but these trees are tied to your magic, my magic, and Luna's magic. The wards are strongest like this."  
Percy nodded slowly, studying the tree. The figures had slowed their movement after A'Jiao's wards were cast. They seemed more solid, especially the woman.  
AJiao followed Percy's gaze. She cocked her head slightly to the side, watching the trees.  
"Interesting," she murmured, her eyes squinting. "I think I can see them better."  
~☆~  
The winter holidays passed and faded into summer. Percy was practicing everything A'Jiao taught him, and was slowly getting better at his meditation. The summer he turned 10 years old, she brought him his own dan dao; the curved, single edged broadsword he had first seen her practicing with.  
They were sitting in her kitchen after he had Flooed over to her place for his weekly lessons. She had deemed he had improved enough to no longer need daily acupuncture and so they settled into practicing kung fu and meditation on a weekly basis. She claimed it was these practices which would continue to help him to cope with the sudden flashes of worry or intuition that he had, help him to sort through them and discern which was which. Percy still had nightmares, but they weren't as intense or frequent, and he almost never felt lost in a haze of confusing images anymore. She told him he had made remarkable progress, and insisted his lessons continue despite his mother's worries about finances (he had heard her arguing in the kitchen with Aunt Muriel one night. Aunt Muriel had somehow managed to convince Molly that he couldn't quit his beloved lessons just because he was getting better). Percy dreamed of becoming an accomplished kungfu master like A'Jiao, and when he finally had the courage to tell her do, she smiled and told him if he kept studying, one day he might be able to.  
Aunt Muriel was also pleased with his progress in school and had taken to helping Molly with all the children's education. The household had fallen into a peaceful rhythm, and Aunt Muriel had gone so far as to erect a granny flat in the back yard of the Burrow. Percy was secretly very pleased to see it; he knew it meant Aunt Muriel wasn't going anywhere any time soon. Percy didn't know exactly how she had convinced his mother to accept the change on a longer term basis than they had first imagined, but Aunt Muriel merely shrugged and told him that in India most families lived with at least one extra generation. (She then had to explain to him that where she was from was now called Pakistan, which is how Percy learned he knew almost nothing of Muggle history, despite how much it had touched even his own family).  
Percy gaped at the sword in its scabbard. It was much too big for him to practice with yet, and he knew he didn't have the proficiency to try even if he were tall enough. But he felt a smile growing on his face as A'Jiao showed him how to grip it properly.  
Sparks shot out of the end of the sword once he held it and he nearly dropped the sword in amazement.  
A'Jiao grinned at him.  
"Yes," she agreed, "it's true that these swords can be used just like a wand."  
Percy blushed a deep red to the tips of the roots of his hair, setting the sword down carefully on the kitchen table, and then threw his arms around A'Jiao.  
"Thank you so much," he spluttered. "I can never repay you!"  
A'Jiao patted his back gently, pulling away from him, but holding his hands so she could gaze into his face. He noticed with surprise that her eyes seemed to be gleaming.  
"Take very good care of it, and practice every day," A'Jiao said. "And there is one thing you can do for me, Percy."  
"Anything," Percy said immediately.  
A'Jiao hesitated, her normally luminous face suddenly closed.  
"If Luna ever really needs someone, do what you can to be there for her," she said at last.  
Percy nodded enthusiastically.   
"Of course!" He answered, nearly bouncing on his toes with excitement. "I'll protect her like my own sister!" He agreed.  
A'Jiao smiled, the tears still threatening in her eyes.  
"Thank you, Percy," she said quietly, and after much enthusiasm, sent him back through the Floo to show his family the sword.  
Looking back on that moment in later years, he wondered how much of the future A'Jiao had already divined.


	4. A wake

A year passed quickly, another year where Percy felt some of the weight lighten from his shoulders. He was enthusiastically celebrating the return of his brothers from another year at school when a wave of magic swept over him, familiar and wistful as a cool breeze.

He looked up from where he was wrestling on the floor with Charlie, adjusting his glasses.

"What was that?" He asked sharply. Ron was still running circles around Bill, teasing him with snatching his hat and waving it as he dashed away, Bill making playful stabs towards it. Ginny was playing with some bubbles that changed colour every time she blew them, which Fred and George had liberated from Charlie's school trunk earlier that day.

The twins themselves were giggling over the potion, no doubt scheming terrible futures for them all.

Charlie tried to grin his big goofy grin, tighten the grip he had on Percy's leg and bring him back into their mock wrestle (a lost cause for anything serious; Charlie must have at least a stone and a good 4 inches on him). But he let go when he saw Percy refuse to be distracted, and straightened up next to him.

"I didn't notice anything, Percy," Charlie disagreed carefully. "What's got you worried?" Charlie was like that, big and good natured, always had a knack for calming down sharp scared things, which is what Percy became as he felt another wave of magic wash over him, this one more powerful than the first.

He was on his feet and running towards the fireplace despite Charlie's hand on his shoulder. 

"A'Jiao," he answered, the sense of her magic suddenly pressing down on him, wave after wave of her deep, calming presence, a rush of impressions: the sound of her laugh, her eyes dark as she smiled, the way she sat so straight across from him as she meditated.

Floo powder was in his hand before he knew what he was doing, and he was stepping into the fireplace.

The Lovegood's was only a stop away, but he stepped out of the fireplace to another dimension; the sound of Luna's crying, fear thick in the air. 

Charlie was stumbling out of the Floo after him, his face suddenly pale.

Percy ran towards the sound of the tears, Charlie following behind him shouting vain warnings; "Percy, be careful!" Which barely registered as Percy smashed his entire ten year old body against a locked door that led to the family's bedrooms.

He tried this several times, as Luna's wails grew more desperate, until he was finally able to register Charlie's hand gripping his shoulder.

"Percy! Percy, come with me to get Mom!"

Magic flared again, shooting up and down with harsh spasms along Percy's spine. He fell to the ground and bucked wildly as the wild magic roared through him. Luna's wails grew louder.

There was a flash of white in the sky that drew both Charlie's and Percy's gaze to the window.

The magic was crawling along Percy's skin, singing. 

"I'm getting Mom," Charlie insisted, trying to drag Percy up from where he'd collapsed on the floor.

"I'm not leaving Luna!"

More light in the sky, a steady beam bright even at mid day.

"All right!" Charlie agreed, his voice high and desperate, finally releasing his grip on Percy's shoulder and running back to the fireplace. Percy sank next to the door to the sleeping quarters, calling out a stream of nonsense,

"I'm here Luna, I'm here, my Mom is coming to help us..."

The sound of Charlie in the Floo behind him, and the sound of a song; a lullaby, in words Percy couldn't understand, lilting and soothing, like ripples in a pond.

The magic was quieting slowly, and the world was becoming dreamlike around him.

"Luna," Percy whispered, and he thought he heard an answering whisper from behind the doorway: "Percy," but then he blacked out.

~☆~

He came to lying on the couch in his living room, Aunt Muriel sitting next to him, reading a book and sipping her chai.

She patted his legs, gently.

"Ahh, Percy, you're awake I see," she said.

Percy was covered under one of his mother's crocheted blankets, despite the early summer heat.

He had a sense of faint, comforting magics that A'Jiao did so well, but they were like a mirage, the shimmering after effect of something that had once been there. Percy felt the quiet after a storm and felt a deep, terrible knowing settle in at the tired lines of Aunt Muriel's face.

"Your mother's at St. Mungo's with the Lovegoods," she said.

"Luna?" He asked.

"With them," she answered. She seemed on the verge of saying something, hesitated uncharacteristically. 

"She's dead," Percy said, horrible knowing settling into his bones.

"We don't know that, Percy, not yet." Muriel's voice was fierce.

But the magic whispering in finality across Percy's skin said otherwise 

He was tired, too tired to feel angry. He felt on some level that he should have been able to prevent this, that he should have known what was coming. A'Jiao's death was not one of his visions, but hadn't he always startled to see her? Felt a sense of awe at seeing Luna encapsulated in her arms? A worry that whispered this happiness couldn't last? But if he listened to that last one, A'Jiao had told him he'd never enjoy the happiness he did have.

"Will we see Luna soon?" He asked, thinking of his promise to A'Jiao.

"As soon as possible, Percy, as soon as possible," Murirl sighed, patting his leg.

~☆~

The wake passed in a blur for Percy. He gathered as many white flowers as he could find and brought them to the Lovegoods. Luna accepted them with solemn eyes, quiet. 

Percy didn't know most of the people who had come to stay at the Lovegoods; her family from China was there, A'Jiao's mother and father stiff faced. Aunt Muriel passed them a white envelope, the amount of money which was in it had been a source of an overhead argument between Muriel and his parents.

"Thank you, Percy," Luna murmured, accepting the flowers and setting them next to a silent portrait of A'Jiao.

The day of the funeral passed in a blur of chanting he couldn't understand. Luna's tears were muffled, but her Chinese cousins were loud.

He met her outside afterwards where she was burning paper money in a fire pit close to where he had first seen A'Jiao practicing Kung fu. Members of her family sat next to the house on conjured chairs, talking Chinese loudly with each other.

"Mom wouldn't like this," Luna said conversationally, as she dropped the paper money into the fire one by one. "But one of my cousins gave it to me to burn and I didn't want to argue." 

Percy nodded. He understood the sway distant family had over the running of matters and knew better to argue with anyone, although of course his mother or father could always overrule an order they disagreed with.

They stood together for a long time, watching the paper burn.

~☆~

Percy did not want to return to life as normal after A'Jiao's death, but it was summer time, and he felt he had little choice. Most of the fruits and vegetables they ate throughout the year were prepared during the summer, and while his mother would only put her hands on her hips and insist that all children should have chores, Percy had long since realized that the feverish pace of the summers, his mother daily preserving food for the year, was not so much a preference but a necessity.

And so he prodded the twins to cooperate and took Ron by his hand and they went about their daily tasks of weeding, harvesting, degnoming, despite the sensation that an elephant had come to sit on his chest.

Luna had become a fixture around their house, and Percy would often fetch her from the Lovegood's, where an eerie silence had fallen, blanketing the hallways. Luna and Ginny would play under the apple trees, never far from Percy's watchful eyes.

Bill and Charlie both made visible efforts to cheer Percy up, standing next to him while he peeled potatoes or shelled peas. Percy appreciated it, though he found little to say to them.

"Will it ever stop hurting?" He asked Charlie quietly one night. The two had to share a bedroom while Charlie was home from school.

Charlie was quiet for a while, maybe thinking of the two uncles he had once adored, dead in the war;

"It comes and goes, Percy," he sighed, "it's like the waves in the ocean. Sometimes it's better and sometimes it's worse."

Percy had nothing to say to that.

His nightmares had worsened after A'Jiao's death and he often woke with tears running down his face. He didn't like to wake up Charlie, who would either come into his bed to comfort him or send for his mother. And so, about a month after A'Jiao's funeral, when he woke with tears streaming down his face, he stifled his sobs into his fist.

He tried to calm down the pounding in his chest, slow his breathing. He knew if he panicked, he'd wake Charlie, and he didn't want to do that.

He tried to remember what A'Jiao had told him about panic, and slowly a song began to build in his mind. It was the lullaby A'Jiao had sung to him and Luna before she'd died.

His tears settled and his breathing began to slow.

He imagined her hand stroking his hair, wiping away his tears (though she had never done this, he could imagine that she would. He could almost feel the faint trace of her hand right now, caressing his cheek...).

He slipped back into sleep again.

The next morning, he woke to the faint hum of a song. It brought a smile to his lips. Although it was as real to him as the sound of his mother calling to Ginny from the kitchen, he knew instinctively that no one else could hear it.

"Good morning, Percy," the voice said, and he smiled back, allowing himself to luxuriate for a moment in the kindness of the voice.

The voice sounded very much like A'Jiao's, but it didn't have her faint, lilting accent, and it was a bit higher than hers.

He decided immediately that he would tell no one about this; he had worried his family enough with his first round of insanity, and he had no intention of burdening them all with a second. 

And so he went throughout his week, saying nothing about his hallucinations to anyone.

~☆~

Percy learned several things about the voice as time went on. First off, the voice was not omniscient. Although it seemed to observe what he observed, it could not hear his thoughts unless he directed them at the voice. Secondly, Percy soon realized that although it was unfailingly kind, it did not grasp some basic truths about Percy's life: 

Percy was hanging laundry and muttering to himself. The twins were supposed to be helping him, but they had scampered off after noisily rolling in the mud at the edge of the garden. They had somehow managed to mess with the watering charms and create a deep pit of mud that they were now caked in up to their necks. They'd laughed at him telling him they couldn't help with clean laundry if they were filthy themselves and ran off to "wash up" (play in the creek).

"Little miscreants," he muttered, pinning up a sheet on the line and scowling to himself, "always trying to get out of work." 

The voice was amused:

"They're children, Percy, it's normal."

"Bill and Charlie are children and they're still helping out!" Bill had fixed the water after a lot of poking around, and now he and Charlie were weeding the garden while laughing and talking; Percy could see them from where he was hanging the clothes. Ron was trailing behind them, lazily digging his hoe in behind Charlie, only swinging it when Charlie or Bill would pause to tease him about it.

"They're teenagers," the voice disagreed mildly, "they have more capacity for work. It's developmentally appropriate for them to be able to concentrate for longer."

Percy pouted. This was another thing he'd noticed about the voice; it tended to know things that he had never heard of. It didn't seem like something Percy could have heard before. The voice would occasionally drop big words like that, tempting Percy to engage and learn more, the way A'Jiao used to. But Percy didn't feel like playing this game.

'Fred and George should be helping,' he insisted. 'This way they're just leaving it all to me to do. It's not fair.'

'It's not fair,' the voice agreed. 'You could do your half and leave the rest to them?'

Percy sighed, putting the pillowcases up on the line,

'Not worth the hassle with Mom,' he thought grumpily, wheeling out the clothesline and stepping down from his little stool to get the next towel, "She'd just get mad and ask me why I hadn't insisted they do it. But if I do insist, then the twins will hassle me all week and call me bossy. So I may as well just do it myself.'

The voice paused, considering this.

'Your Mom seems to expect an awful lot of you,' the voice said at last. 'After all, she isn't keeping them on task with you either.'

'Mom's too busy with the chickens,' Percy answered. 'She can't be bothered with their shenanigans right now.'

Molly and Muriel had ordered the chicken flock butchered that week, and were working in the cold cellar, putting preserving charms on the carcasses and storing them away. They would also be cooking whatever of the chicken couldn't be preserved, making it into soup that could be kept frozen in charms.

A'Jiao would have been amused by Percy's wording, rolling the word shenanigans around in her mouth like it was a fine wine, appreciative of the local flavour. They might have even giggled about it together as A'Jiao tried out different accents, getting sillier and sillier until they had both collapsed with laughter. 

But the voice took this in stride, unaware of Percy's sudden wistfulness.

'Surely your Mom can take a bit of a break to handle it,' the voice suggested, 'And if she can't, she can hardly blame you for them not listening.'

'You don't understand,' Percy thought despairingly. It seemed like no one did. If he was going to host a delusion, surely the least it could do was empathize with his plight?

'Maybe not,' the voice admitted, always curious, never judgemental. Its attitude won Percy over, despite himself, 'will you explain it to me?'

'Mom and Muriel aren't free to run after the twins just because they're being naughty,' Percy responded, squinting against the midday sun and watching as Bill and Charlie waved Ron off to go play with the ducks. Ron never did much, usually slinking away as soon as he'd done the bare minimum. But at least he was quiet about his slacking off, unlike the twins. 'They're working hard at getting the chickens ready. That's more important than getting the twins to listen for once. Those chickens are a main source of our food every winter, and they're going to be up until midnight working on all that stuff. And so she told me the twins are my responsibility today,' Percy concluded, going back to his laundry basket and grabbing an armful of clean washcloths, 'she's already going to be exhausted enough without having to run after them.'

The voice was quiet for a while. Percy hung up the clothes.

'Would your family truly not have enough to eat without the chicken flock?' The voice asked at last.

Percy sighed, carrying the now empty laundry hamper into the back entrance, where they stored their warmer clothes and did the laundry in the winter.

'Yes,' he said simply.

'I see,' the voice answered quietly. 'That's quite stressful.' 

Percy half smiled. 

He was thinking of the time during the war when his father had been in prison. He had heard late night whispers about "imperius" and "mind controlled". He was only four years old at the time. In those days, his mother would put soup on the table every night. After they'd all had a bowl and a slice of bread with lard (butter was too expensive; they had sold their milking cow "to pay someone to get Dad out of jail", or so Bill told him. Percy had loved that cow, its soft brown eyes. But Percy and Bill could agree getting Dad out of jail was more important than a cow, no matter how soft-eyed and sweet she was) his mother would say "Thank Allah! It's enough." And Percy would set down his spoon and nod solemnly, ignoring the hole in his stomach that told him he could eat more.

His mother didn't usually talk about Allah, that was Great Aunt Muriel's and Great Grandma Sufia's domain. But his mother had started doing the four prayers a day when Dad was gone. Percy would find her sometimes in the early morning, face down on the floor, having fallen asleep on her prayer mat.

Percy didn't have the courage to ask her if she still did the prayers with Dad back at home. She had never insisted any of the children join her and Dad wasn't Muslim. They ate bacon from the pigs they raised and swore by Merlin. But the rug, at least, stayed on the floor of his parent's bedroom.

The twins wouldn't remember those years. They had been too young. But Percy, Charlie and Bill did remember. They had learned to garden and weed and fish from an early age. Charlie and Bill had even hunted rabbits and quail from the woods, and would cut them up with sharp knives on the picnic table in the backyard when they were done. Percy had wanted to help, but they told Percy he was too young to join them. They would feed the entrails to the pigs to fatten them up and Percy would watch with wide eyes as the pigs devoured the mess.

'It's better than it used to be,' he told the voice, 'we have enough.'

~☆~

His eleventh birthday was a whirlwind of activity. The whole family comes with him to Diagon Alley, because this is his birthday present: being fitted with a wand in Ollivander's shop. 

Charlie and Bill both had matched with their Uncle's wands, or at least, it was close enough that the family hadn't spent their few coins on a new wand for either child. So Percy is the first Weasley in the family to go through this ritual, a long tradition for most pure blood eleven year olds. Getting his own wand; was there ever anything else that quite marked that a child was no longer really such a child anymore? He was young still, of course, but as he held the various wands in his hand, searching for a match, he felt himself pass beyond an invisible barrier of young childhood and into the world of increased independence and responsibility. 

He would be going to Hogwarts in the fall, away from his parents, in charge of his own education with no one to nag him if he didn't do his studies; he took the responsibility of it seriously as he rolled the heavy weight of the wands between his fingers.

Ollivander kept passing him between two wands; a rowan and an ash. Percy waved both, several times. They each produced a shower of sparks, but feebly. At last Ollivander sighed, and said decisively: "neither then," and went into his back room and rummaged around for a while. 

When he came out, it was with a pale white wand. 

As soon as Percy put his hand on it, he felt a warmth travel up his harm, and when he waved it, little images of birds flew out, landing softly on the shelves and peering at Percy.

His mother clapped her hands in obvious joy.

"Ahh, Percy!" She said, tears coming to her eyes, "it's just perfect!"

Charlie was studying the golden glowing birds closely, grinning.

"Better hope they don't sing, Percy," he teased, "those look like Fwoopers. They'll drive you insane."

Percy tried not to look disturbed by this information.

"A curious combination, most unusual," Ollivander said, peering at Percy with his strange silver eyes. "Fir and Phoenix feather. A survivor's wand indeed. For someone who will come out of the fires of life. Though I do wonder, child, with such a wand, what kind of fires you may see."

Aunt Muriel cleared her throat from where she was shoved into the small shop, by the door.

"Delightful commentary aside," she said, her tone dry, "it's time for us to celebrate! I think the cake should be just ready for us when we get home."

Molly took the money pouch away from where it was hidden under her robe and carefully counted out the 7 Galleons. It was more money than Percy had ever seen in his life, and his eyes widened to see it.

He gave his mother a tight hug and cradled the package to his chest as they took the Floo back home from the Leaky Cauldron.

~☆~

Percy hadn't gone into the forest since A'Jiao's death. The family had warned him against it. He heard them muttering in quiet voices at night about A'Jiao experimenting with dangerous spells in the forest. No one had been able to enter the clearing since A'Jiao's body had been recovered; her wards remained strong even after her death.

But one morning, a week after his birthday, Percy woke up, a strange curdle of anticipation in his stomach. He did his chores quickly that morning, husking corn and harvesting tomatoes without talking much with his brothers.

In the afternoon, Charlie and Bill were flying on their new brooms. Charlie had a summer job training crups, and Bill had made money all the previous school year tutoring. He also helped their Muggle neighbors on their farm with the milking, up every morning before the sun rose. The boys were incredibly proud of their purchases, and all the siblings were watching with wide eyed glee as Charlie and Bill raced on their new brooms.

Percy slipped away from the backyard in the chaos of Fred and George begging for a turn on their own while Ginny cackled with glee as Bill held her between his arms, flying two feet off the ground and making slow loops around the yard.

Percy walked to the edge of the forest, hesitating as he got to the familiar trail that lead back to the Lovegoods.

'It's time Percy,' the voice whispered.

He took his first step into the woods, his heart high in his throat.

The woods were a riot of noise; the cricking of grasshoppers, the chattering of squirrels, the slow trickle of the stream.

Slowly, Percy's shoulders began to relax, his breathing slowed.

He walked for a long time, following the creek bed rather than the trail. His steps quickened as he got deeper and deeper into the woods, pulled as if by a magnet.

On his knees, crawling under the thick boughs of vines and tightly knit trees, into a blackened clearing.

Silence, the blue sky bright overhead.

The oak and the willow, no longer glowing.

'Percy,' the voice whispered, no longer inside his head.

A glowing figure, walking out of the willow. A woman, a touch smaller than A'Jiao, her face kind.

'Percy,' she smiled at him. 'Do not be afraid.'

Percy reached out his hand, touched the glowing silver hand, awe flowing through him.

He would not spend a moment without her by his side for the next three years.


	5. A School Divided

The ghostly woman floated around Percy's bedroom, touching his worn trunk (once his father's), the scattering of geminio'ed parchment lying across his dresser, the quills he and Bill and Charlie had made from goose feathers. The Weasley's had butchered the goose the night before, and the children had been responsible for making the quills and ink while Muriel and Molly prepared the goose for the children's going away feast. The brothers mixed charcoal, pine sap, and vinegar for their ink, bottling it carefully in the vials Molly had saved from years passed.

'Truly resourceful,' the ghost murmured, stirring the ink with her glowing fingers and sniffing it curiously as Percy slowly awoke. The ink did have a faint tell-tale scent of woods and vinegar that gave its origins away. She floated near to the bed, sitting at his feet like Aunt Muriel did. 

Percy stretched lazily, watching the ghost. It was the last couple of days before going to Hogwarts, and he was enjoying the rare break from chores. The haying was done, the corn mostly harvested, and so Molly always instituted a pre Hogwarts break for the children.

Percy slowly wandered out of bed, holding up yesterday's work robe to the light and eyeing it critically. All his robes were copies of course. Bill had the only new robe in the family, and it had been copied several times over for all the subsequent Weasleys to go through Hogwarts. The copies were slightly shabbier than the original, the seams closer to pulling, the colour not as dark. Even with magic, the copies couldn't be as good. And copies never held a colour charm as well as originals did. Transfigured robes were something Molly had always warned Percy against; even a master of transfiguration couldn't hold her spells together forever. It would be embarrassing to begin a day in elegant robes, to end it in a tea towel that barely covered one's privates. Worse could happen for transfigured furniture, sending the occupants to the ground in a rush of failed magic. But desperate times had called for desperate measures, and the Weasleys were paying for it now. Molly and Aunt Muriel would spend their mornings and evenings muttering spells, inspecting the house from foundation to attic, reinforcing and strengthening any of the many transfigurations they'd been forced to use over the years, when money for building materials or furniture were scarce. The whole house was held together by magic and hope. The family couldn't leave for any length of time, lest the whole thing degrade while they were gone, transforming beds into slabs of uncut branches, windows crumbling to sand.

'Percy,' the ghost said, looking away respectfully while Percy dressed, combed his hair, 'you haven't spoken to your family about me.'

Percy paused, the comb half way through his hair. He looked back to the mirror, finished parting his hair carefully:

'Of course not,' he agreed tensely.

The ghost sighed, wandering over from where she'd been sitting on his bed, twisting to face the wall.

'Secrets aren't healthy, Percy,' the ghost persisted.

Percy frowned.

'Mom doesn't have the money to send me back to the hospital,' he disagreed. 'And you're not harmful.'

The ghost shrugged, fiddled with his comb from where it sat on his dresser. She couldn't pick it up of course, but she inspected its wooden teeth, carefully carved from hard wood by Bill.

It had been his birthday gift when he was 9 and newly home from the hospital. Bill had been quite pleased with his handiwork, and Percy had always agreed. He hated sharing his comb with the twins; they always seemed to lose it.

'Still, Percy,' she insisted.

Percy scowled, pushed away from his mirror.

'If it means so much to you,' he agreed spitefully, 'but don't blame me if you get exorcised.'

The ghost shrugged.

'I very much doubt that will happen,' she said. 'I'm not exactly a ghost, after all.'

She floated after him, nonchalant as Percy ran down the stairs for a late breakfast. 

Aunt Muriel was sitting at the table, uncharacteristically late, sipping some tea.

Percy shot a suspicious glance towards the ghost as he sat in the chair next to her.

She floated towards the family clock, studying it with an unconcerned air.

"Percy," Aunt Muriel greeted him, rubbing his hair.

"Good morning Aunt Muriel," he muttered, sheepish.

"Are you looking forward to school tomorrow," she asked him, floating a tea cup over to him and pouring him some tea.

Percy considered the question.

Of course, he was excited to go for his first year of Hogwarts. But he also worried about Luna, and knew from experience that letters weren't quite the same as his presence.

Molly had promised Percy that she would be providing Luna with homeschooling, and with her having helped Neville through the past several years their small home sometimes felt like a true school. But like Neville, Luna would only come for half days because Xenophilius insisted on having her home every afternoon with him. Xeno worked from home on his strange newspaper, dedicated to the absurd and the unlikely. Percy thought people must buy it just for the laughs. (Although it used to have a world renowned section on myths from different cultures, when A'Jiao was alive). Xeno seemed loathe to have Luna gone from his side for any length of time, but grudgingly admitted Molly would be better suited towards teaching her to read and write than he was. Percy was just glad at least two people in the family could keep an eye on Luna while he was gone (as Ginny continued to bask in the presence of another young girl).

"I'm going to miss you all," Percy admitted, looking across the table at his Aunt Muriel, "and worry especially about Luna."

"Ahh, well, Percy," Aunt Muriel murmured, patting his hand, "we'll take good care of her."

Percy nodded, staring at his tea.

The ghost wandered into the kitchen, which was miraculously empty for once.

"What's on your mind, child," Aunt Muriel asked gently, floating him an apple from where it was stored in a basket in the centre of the table, "I can tell something is bothering you."

Percy sighed, pulling the apple from the air and inspecting its red and green flesh, speckled through with yellow where insects had bit it.

"I see A'Jiao sometimes," he half whispered, not meeting Aunt Muriel's eyes.

The ghost continued to pointedly ignore him, looking curiously at the portraits on the walls; gifts from family members. "I was wondering if I'm haunted."

Aunt Muriel sighed, and sipped her tea. Percy dared to look up at her, and saw that she was looking out the window, a far away look in her eyes.

"You're not haunted, Percy," Aunt Muriel said quietly. "There would be other signs. And you can't be possessed by someone who is dead," she added, before Percy could interject. She touched his shoulder, her hands feather light: 

"Percy," she said gently, "you're grieving."

Percy blinked back the sudden tears in his eyes.

"But I see her," Percy insisted, as Aunt Muriel wordlessly conjured him a handkerchief, "As if she were really here."

But Aunt Muriel seemed unmoved by this shocking revelation, merely nodding as she sipped her tea.

"Yes, it used to happen to me too," she agreed. 

Percy gaped at her, distracted from studying his apple.

"When your husband died?" He guessed, amazed.

But Aunt Muriel shook her head, stirred her tea:

"No. He died just a couple of years after we were married. And he was involved in the first world war you know," she said, "so I never really knew him well."

She looked out the window again, lost in thought, "No, Percy, it wasn't him I grieved so. In some ways, I barely knew the man, although he was honourable and always kind to me. I spoke Sindhi with my mother, but growing up in England, and going to Hogwarts, I never learned to write or read it. And so when I travelled to India, to the property my mother had held for me to inherit, I couldn't read the language, and I spoke Sindhi like a child. I had so much to learn. And my husband was in the Indian wizarding army, working to protect wizarding households from bombs and crossfire, so I didn't see him much."

"When he died, I grieved that I never had been able to get to know him better, I grieved the loss of our dreams together. But I came back home to yet more grief; my sister had died. Khadijah and I were very close. She was only 14 months younger than me, and due to my being born in November, and her being born in January, we were in the same school year at Hogwarts. We were inseparable. She had planned to come join me in Khairpur. When I learned about her death, I was still a young widow living in what became Pakistan."

Muriel shrugged, looking towards Percy, "I knew she was gone, of course. But I used to believe I saw her everywhere. In crowds, that it was her who was walking by. I helped raise her children, and they told me they saw her too. Sometimes I would even hear her talking to me, when I woke up in the mornings, especially." 

Muriel sighed, patting Percy on his knee.

"You're not crazy Percy," she said gently. "You miss her. It happens sometimes." 

Percy was too relieved to hear this to hold back his tears. Muriel pulled him into an embrace, and he dared to ask her,

"Still," he said faintly, "what if it's something bad,"

Muriel merely patted his back.

"I'll send an owl to the school matron," she promised, "and ask her to look at you, just to make sure. Still, Percy, I assure you, it happens to us all."

Percy nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes with his sleeve.

"Now let's get you some proper breakfast," Muriel chided gently, walking through the ghost to the kitchen without so much as hesitating, "I'm sure your Mom has saved you some boiled eggs."

~☆~

They apparated North to an alley outside the train station in the morning, all seven Weasley children plus their parents-- and Aunt Muriel of course. They didn't have the money to reserve a ticket to the apparition platform right in the station, so their entrance one by one by Side Along into an alley where they could be seen by Muggles was mildly illegal, but nothing so serious that even Molly brushed off Percy's concerns. "About 20 sickles for a fine, Percy," she sniffed. "Hardly a concern."

Percy frowned. His parents did not have 20 sickles to spare. But he was forced to admit, it was less than the cost of paying for a Floo license for all the children, so he could understand the logic.

They scrambled through the morning crowds until each of the children furtively could dash through the solid wall towards platform 9 and 3/4.

Percy couldn't decide whether it was much too fast or much too slow by the time he was being pulled into his parent's arms, pulled in two different directions by Fred and George, Ginny crying into his shoulder and Muriel wishing him encouragement and patting him fondly on the cheek.

"Come on Percy," Charlie said jovially, grabbing his shoulder and steering him onto the train, "I'll sit with you."

Percy looked up at him gratefully. 

"Don't you want to sit with your own friends?" He asked quietly.

Charlie shrugged, his easy smile managing to wipe away Percy's concerns, like it always did.

"Nah," he said, guiding Percy through the busy train aisles, overflowing with kids and owls in cages, all chattering loudly, and walking towards the back, where the kids seemed to be more his age, "I'll get to see them all year."

Percy kept his eyes to the floor, and nodded, grateful to follow Charlie. He had a hard time in crowds since his accident in the forest all those years ago. They made him jumpy and tense.

"Here," Charlie said, sliding a compartment door open, "this one's empty. Let's sit here."

Percy slipped in front of his brother gratefully, and together they heaved their trunks up into the racks above them. Their father's feather weight charm made the trunks more awkward than heavy.

Charlie opened the window so they could wave at their family as the train pulled away, and Percy watched until the train station shrunk small behind them.

The door swung open and Bill's smiling face was at the door.

"Hey Charlie, hey Percy!" He said, looking at them both, "I've got two firsties here who couldn't find a seat. You two don't mind, do you?"

"Course not," Charlie grinned, moving over in the seat across from Percy, before he could think about it, "Budge over, Perce."

Percy slid uncomfortably into the space where the ghost sat, but she merely slid to sit on the floor between Percy and Charlie's knees.

Bill opened the door wider, and a small girl with dark curly hair and brown eyes walked through the door, shy.

"Hi," she smiled, sitting next to Percy. With her olive skin, and sharp, intelligent eyes, Percy thought she looked like a young Cleopatra. Percy liked her immediately. 

The boy who slunk in after her had robes that were shabbier than Percy's. His dark hair was messy, his skin pink with what looked like a painful sunburn. He sat next to Charlie with little fanfare, but stuck out his hand with a determined glint in his eye.

"Marcus Flint," he said, and to Charlie's credit, he didn't even raise an eyebrow. The Flints, of course, were notorious for having spent their family fortune getting their family off the hook for Azkaban after the war. Both Flint's parents had claimed the imperius defense, and won.

"Charlie Weasley," he replied, and Percy followed his suit with his own neutral introduction.

Penelope must have been at least a Half Blood, because it wasn't a wizarding family name she introduced herself with, but if she was Muggleborn, she didn't flinch at the formality of the handshakes, and offered her own hand with an engaging grin: 

"Penelope Clearwater," she said.

Bill clapped his hands once, grinning over them all from his place still by the door.

"I'm sure my brothers will take good care of you both," he assured them, "I'd love to join you myself, but I've got to patrol the corridors with the other Prefects, make sure there's no trouble. I'll come join after my patrol is done."

They were stuck for one awkward moment after Bill shut the door, staring at each other, until Charlie broke the silence, chattering with them about what classes they were looking forward to, answering Penelope's questions.

The ghost was watching their interactions, amused.

They managed to keep up a steady stream of chatter almost the whole train ride, and Percy was surprised when Bill joined them, and soon enough pointed Penelope to the bathrooms so she could pull on her robes in privacy. The other boys had no such need, all in their robes already.

When Penelope came back, the ghost stood up and turned to speak to Percy for the first time in the trip,

'You should promise to remain friends no matter what House you're sorted into,' she said seriously. 

Percy considered it. Penelope he had no doubts about, but he couldn't help but be skeptical of Flint, with two parents who had narrowly avoided Azkaban. Of course, he knew what A'Jiao would say about that: that he himself had a father who had been freed at trial on the imperius defense. And Flint seemed like a nice enough guy himself. Did it really matter what his parents had done?

"No matter what House we get into, we should all agree to stay in touch," Percy said, echoing the ghost's solemnity.

The three children nodded their head gravely, and then Penelope burst into giggles, breaking their sombre mood.

"Of course we will, Percy!" She said, "Houses can't be such a big deal to keep us apart."

Percy and Marcus shared a look, but didn't break this illusion. Pureblood families were especially notorious for insisting their children follow the traditions of their house. And Molly had a grudge against Slytherin since her Uncles had been thrown in Azkaban for supporting Voldemort. Her father, Ali, had spent the family fortune trying to appeal his brothers' convictions, until finally they died in Azkaban. Ali himself had always believed in their innocence, much to Molly's dismay, and died from Dragon pox soon after their deaths. Molly herself thought he could have made it, but for his grief for his brothers.

"They were crooked as a barrel of snakes," she'd say, on the rare occasions Percy had ever heard her talk about it to Muriel, "I know they were your nephews, but just look at who they spent time with! Abraxus Malfoy, Eadwig Nott the third, Corban Yaxley," she hissed the names like a curse: "snakes, all of them. He never would have gone bad but for their bad influence, and the influence of that house!"

Percy, overhearing the conversation from where the voices carried up the vents, could imagine Muriel's shrug.

"Maybe," she sighed, no doubt fiddling with some small household task, "who knows why people do what they do."

Molly's exasperated sigh. Percy could imagine she'd thrown her hands in the air in a pique of despair:

"Oh don't get all Hufflepuff and egalitarian on me, telling me that all people deserve a fair chance. Slytherin House should have been razed to the ground years ago..." Molly likely continued ranting, but they walked away from the vents and Percy could hear them no more.

The train whistle sounded, pulling Percy out of his reverie with a start as the train began to slow.

"Hogwarts!" Penelope marvelled, her nose glued to the window, "oh it's just as grand as I thought it would be!"

Marcus was feigning cool, looking over Charlie's shoulder out the window, and Percy peered behind Penelope, curious about the castle his brothers had raved to him about.

The first glance sent him back to his seat, shaking.

The castle was just like the one in this nightmares, but in his dreams it burnt, the grand turrets that now stretched majestically over a cliff collapsing in huge boulders that fell into the lake below, mermaids screaming in shrill voices, throwing spears at the dragons wheeling overhead...

"All right there, Perce," Charlie said, clasping his hand on his shoulder.

Percy swallowed the bile rising in his throat, and the ghost whispered in his ear: 'Just a bad dream, Percy, you're safe now. You're 11 years old. You're on the Hogwart's Express,...' the same refrain he'd learned from the Healers and practiced endlessly with Muriel and A'Jiao. He hadn't had to use it in years. He flexed his hands, tried to push his feet further into the train floor, forcing his breath out his nose slowly.

He realized Penelope and Marcus were staring at him, Bill had shifted closer to him, and he blushed crimson. "I'm all right," he stammered, "it's just surprising, that's all."

They appeared to accept this response, which Percy was grateful for, because he didn't think he would know what to tell them had so shocked him.

~☆~

Percy didn't know how he would have made it through the boat ride without the ghost to whisper gentle reassurances in his ear. He felt hopelessly exposed under the open sky and flat water of the Black Lake, unable to defend himself if needed.

Marcus looked at him strangely as he clung to the wand in his coat sleeve, huddled into the side of the boat for the scant shelter it offered against spell fire.

The ghost offered him a convenient lie,

"I get sea sick," he explained, and because he felt immediately bad for the falsehood, "and I hate boats," but neither Penelope, Mark, or the small dark, squirmy boy named Oliver Wood questioned this too much.

Walking into the Great Hall for the first time, he was dizzied by its familiarity. He felt a wave of nausea and despair overwhelm him again, and he felt his knees tremble.

Fred, lying on the ground, his lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. Other children's bodies lying dead across the floor, the great doorways barred shut...

'Breathe, Percy,' the ghost advised him, 'you are safe now. You are walking into line in the Great Hall. You are anxious. You can feel the floor beneath your feet...' the ghost guided him back into his body, into the world in front of him and not the chaos that ruled his head.

He tried to find his brothers' faces in the crowd at the Gryffindor table. Charlie was grinning at him encouragingly, and Bill was consoling a miserable looking second year. Percy breathed out a breath he didn't know he had been holding and tried to tune back into the scene before him; the students being sorted. Oliver was behind him, and a tall blond girl named Isabella Yaxley was behind Oliver, but otherwise Percy would be one of the last students to be sorted. 

He started when he realized that he had missed Penelope's sorting and looked around until he saw her sitting with a shy smile at the Ravenclaw table. Flint too, had already been sorted and was sitting at Slytherin. Weasleys were usually all in Gryffindor, but as his Great Aunt reminded him at their house dinner the night before, she herself had been a Hufflepuff when she attended "a lifetime ago," as she joked, "when the Hogwart's train was still new." (Although this last part may have even been true).

Soon enough it was Percy's turn to sit under the hat, the wide brim falling well over his eyes.

He was nervous to be blinded, but distracted himself by wondering how the artifact had been enchanted to work when a voice sounded in his head:

'Ahh, another Weasley I see.'

'A Prewett as much as a Weasley,' Percy protested, thinking of his mother. 

The hat laughed, amused.

'So you've some brains to go along with that courage, I see.'

Percy quieted his racing thoughts, curious to observe how the hat made its decisions. Could a quarter of the school really fit so easily into the narrow attributes of courage, ambition, dedication, or the pursuit of wisdom? Didn't everyone show some of those traits at some times and inevitably fail to hold to those ideals at others? Perhaps then, the hat would be left to throw Percy into whatever house was lowest on bodies, seeing as how he was sorted near the end. And Gryffindor only had two other boys in it for now. He gave a mental shrug. He'd work hard and hold to his ambitions no matter where he went, and Allah knew he already had to have courage to face the chaos that ruled his head. (His brothers would have referred to Merlin, but Aunt Muriel would sniff that this was nonsense. No one claimed Merlin was a god, or even a prophet of one, she explained to him. And so Percy had mostly stopped swearing by Merlin, although he occasionally did so out of habit).

'But how are you only 11 years old?' The hat asked, 'you're quite skeptical of my methods for someone of your age. And you know many Eastern practices'

Percy wondered for a moment what his practice of kung fu, meditation or his familiarity with Islam had to do with anything.

'It has to do with quite a bit,' the hat answered him, 'Salazar Slytherin was from the Kingdom of Persia, you know, and he studied in China when he was young.'

'He did?' Percy asked in surprise. 'I've never read that anywhere.'

But the hat did not expand.

'Tell me Percy, what are your ambitions, anyway?'

When Percy was younger, he wanted to become the Minister of Magic so he could fix everything that was wrong with the Wizengamot, so that no families would be as poor as his. But since his accident, he had a different ambition: to prevent the horrors he saw in his head from ever taking place.

He squeezed his eyes shut, clung his hands in fists to his pants, but it didn't help; he saw images of Fred, dead on the floor of the Great Hall, of Hogwart's burning, of giant spiders storming the school grounds, trolls behind them...

Percy could have sworn the school hat gasped.

'Are you a Seer?' It asked him, its voice caught between horror and outrage.

Percy shrunk back from the accusatory tone.

'I'm not angry at you, child,' the hat clarified, continuing to dig through his mind. It was a sensation unlike any Percy had ever experienced, as if his mind were made flesh that could be prodded.

'But what's this?' The hat asked, its voice suspicious, 'child, you've consented to Dark magic, the strongest I've seen in ages.'

'I have?' Percy asked in confusion. The hat clawed at a blank spot in his mind, and Percy half cried out in pain.

'Ahh, sorry,' the hat said, almost sheepish. 'Well! It seems the answer here is clear : you practice Dark magic, you may be a seer, you have great ambitions, Salazar Slytherin himself would be proud!'

And the hat cried out

"Slytherin!" Before Percy could gather his wits to protest.

He pulled the hat off and looked to his brothers for help. Charlie was gaping, but Bill nudged him and soon they were both clapping politely with the rest of the school.

Percy sat the hat down on the stool and walked towards the Slytherin table, trying and most likely failing not to look dumbfounded.


	6. Loyalties, Divided

The feast passed by in a blur. He sat next to Flint, who seemed to empathize with his predicament:

"Surprised?" Flint muttered, as Percy stirred the mash on his plate, not able to convince himself to eat a bite:

"All the Weasleys have been in Gryffindor since forever," Percy grimaced, "My Mom is gonna kill me."

"Rough, mate," Flint sympathized, "I don't know what mine would do if I got put anywhere other than Slytherin."

There were several resounding nods around the table at this profession, but Percy was too miserable to notice.

When the feast was at a close, and the Prefects rounding up the first years to lead them to their dorms, Professor Snape, (now his House Head, Percy reminded himself) pulled him aside.

"Percy Weasley, is it?"

Percy nodded in quiet gloom, wondering what he had done wrong already. 

"A letter came to the school addressed to the future Head of your House. The writer," Professor Snape added, when he saw Percy shrink away at this pronouncement, "Did not specify which House it would be."

That must have been Aunt Muriel then. Even his Dad would have assumed that he would stay in Gryffindor, and wouldn't have thought to merely address the letter to "Percy Weasley's future Head of House".

Percy nodded slowly.

"Your great great Aunt Muriel requested that you visit the Matron on a non-urgent basis, to go over some concerns you had."

Snape swept an evaluative eye over Percy, his eyes pausing on the already threadbare sleeves of his robe.

"Were you aware of this arrangement?" 

Percy stared at the Head's collar, too scared to meet his eyes. The collar was black and crisply starched up. A'Jiao's relatives had worn high collars like that. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.

'You wanted to check and see if you were haunted or possessed,' the ghost reminded him, speaking quietly in his ear. 

Percy started nonetheless.

Professor Snape peered down his prodigious nose at Percy. 

"I take it you were not informed," he said, his black eyes unreadable. "I hope you will have the good sense nonetheless to go to the appointment. I have arranged it for you tomorrow at 4pm, when you should have a spare. I can accompany you to this appointment and explain anything to you you do not understand, acting in locus parentis, if you wish."

Percy noticed suddenly that the stern man was like A'Jiao; he used terms beyond his comprehension, seeking for Percy to learn by asking questions.

"Aunt Muriel did talk to me about it, Professor, I just forgot," Percy found the wits to answer.

'Thank him for offering to come with you and tell him you want him there,' the voice said suddenly. 

"Thank you for offering to come with me, sir," he added, still flustered, "I would like very much for you to do so." 

The man nodded once, his face a mask of harsh lines.

"All of my charges have a right to adult supervision for medical matters," he said stiffly, "I run a tight ship, Percy, and you will find I am informed about my students. You will meet me in the Slytherin common room tomorrow at 4pm. Do not be late."

Percy nodded, and the man made a shooing gesture, uncharacteristically casual in comparison to his otherwise stern and formal manner.

"I believe the Prefects are leading you all to the Slytherin common room. I'll come to the common room and make an introduction to everyone in a moment."

Percy nodded and ran to join the other first years, who were already beginning to wander towards the door of the Great Hall. The ghost floated behind him, amused,

'He likes you,' she pronounced.

'He does?' Percy asked in confusion. He had seen no such evidence of this himself.

But the children were chattering and exclaiming at the rich tapestries and portraits of potion makers, seers, famous Healers and politicians that lined the walls leading to their common room in the basement of the castle, and Percy didn't have time to discuss this matter further with the ghost. He hurried to join them, curious despite himself when one of the Nott boys pointed out one of their common ancestors, a Polaris Black, painted next to his commanding Ethiopian wife, Gudit, in a place of honour next to what the third year boy- was his name Andre? Percy would have to pay more attention- said was the Potions classroom.

"He was a great uniter of all the Pureblood families, Percy," maybe-Andre said. "Maybe that's why you're in Slytherin. To unite us again."

Percy gulped up at the portrait, who stared back down at him.

"Maybe," Percy muttered. Most of the Blacks had been united in the last war; united under Voldemort.

The portrait studied him imperiously, seeming to weigh him. Percy felt those dark eyes on his back a long time after he had scattered away with the rest of the first years.

~☆~

His mother had been so certain that Percy would get into Gryffindor that at breakfast the next day their small, aging owl Errol delivered him a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. Percy opened a corner of it as surreptitiously as possible. It was very common for PureBlood families to receive a sorting gift, usually something relating to their new house. Scarves were a common choice, although of course, some families gave expensive tie pins or cufflinks, heirlooms for the truly old families. His roommates, Marcus Flint and Terence Higgs had already received at least letters from their parents congratulating them. Their other roommate, Miles Bletchley, was Muggleborn and his parents wouldn't have guessed how Houses could impact their lives beyond determining which sports team to cheer for. Marcus peered over Percy's shoulder and looked at the gift he had only half-unwrapped: a red and gold hand knit scarf with a stylized embroidered lion-- and grimaced sympathetically. There was also a short but enthusiastic letter from his Dad, congratulating him pre-emptively on getting into Gryffindor, and regaling him with stories if his own first year in the towers, and finally a more neutral letter from Aunt Muriel merely saying she would always be just an owl away.

Errol hooted once, pathetically, and shed a graying feather.

"Yaxley might have something to trade you," Marcus said in a low voice. Blond little Demelza Yaxley had been placed in Gryffindor, much to everyone's surprise. Percy had been too absorbed in his own shocking sorting to notice anything much after his placement, but it had been the buzz of the Slytherin common room in the morning when his head was clear enough to take it in. Percy nodded shortly at Marcus's suggestion and Marcus thumped him on the shoulder.

"Come on," he said, "I'll go with you to find her. Let's go see what we can negotiate."

Percy nodded gratefully and picked up Errol and put him on his shoulder, where the old bird's talons scratched hard into his shoulder. Errol likely couldn't manage the flight up to the Owlery after the long night carrying the package from their home in Ottery St Catchpool. 

Percy had noticed Marcus's robes were just as sparse as his. He would've eaten his own shoe if Marcus's robes weren't geminio'ed, and his trunk had reverted to a pile of hay by the time they had all been introduced to their dorm room. Marcus had blushed, but Percy merely told him about how his Aunt Muriel and mother had to do the rounds in their house every morning and evening to prevent the whole thing from collapsing in on itself, so many things they had transfigured over the years. Marcus had looked impressed at this, much to Percy's surprise.

"They must be right powerful witches," he had said. "It takes a lot of magical power to maintain that many transfigurations every day."

Percy had opened his mouth to protest this, but found to his surprise that his other roommates were nodding in agreement. 

As for Marcus's predicament, the roommates had connived to drag a mostly empty shelf from the common room for him to use. Terence had leant Marcus an anti-thieving ward to store underneath it, so that he didn't have to feel too exposed.

And so Marcus understood better than most that the scarf wasn't something Percy's family could simply replace with another of appropriate colors, and walked with him to the Gryffindor table. 

"Hey Perce," Bill grinned at him, making some room on the bench for the boys to scramble in beside him, "glad you haven't forgotten your brothers in all the surprise from last night."

"Saved you some bacon," Charlie said, sliding into the bench across from him.

"Thanks, Charlie," Percy muttered, and crunched half heartedly at it, before remembering his manners: "you want any, Marcus?" 

Marcus shrugged.

"Nah, but thanks."

"Whatchya got there, Perce?" Bill said, leaning over his shoulder and plucking the package off of his lap. He grabbed at the paper with enthusiasm, brushing off Percy's protests and attempts to snatch the parcel back. The package ripped open in the commotion and the red and gold scarf slid out of the paper and fell onto the middle of the table for all to see. Bill blushed uncharacteristically. 

"Oh. Ugh, sorry Perce."

The brothers were silent for a moment, all staring at the large lion opening and shutting its mouth again and again in a silent roar. Their mother must have worked for hours on that charm. 

"We thought maybe Demelza might have something to trade for it," Marcus explained after they'd all had a moment to feel awkward and wrong footed.

"Who?" Charlie muttered, snatching Errol off of Percy's shoulder and massaging his wings, (which Errol responded to with half hearted coos), but Bill lit up.

"That's a great idea," he enthused, and gestured to one of the girls down the table, "Oi Angelica!"

A slender girl with short shiny dark hair straightened up from where she was chatting with several other athletic looking upper year girls.

"Oi Bill!," she answered, "is that any way to talk to the Captain of the winning Quidditch team this year?" 

She sauntered over with a grin nonetheless.

"What do ya need?" She asked, ruffling Percy's hair almost automatically. It made Percy wonder if there was something about his hair that seemed especially rufflable.

"Your kid brother's in trouble already and you need someone to run interference with the Snakes?"

She suddenly took in Marcus and stuck her tongue between her teeth, grinning in embarrassment. "Ugh, present company excluded of course."

"Nah, I was gonna use my in with the most powerful of seventh years to ask if you've seen Demelza," Bill answered with easy charm. He gestured to the newly wrapped scarf on the table, the "congratulations, son!" note still pinned to it.

Angelica grimaced sympathetically, understanding immediately.

"She was just here," she muttered, looking around the raucous table. Angelica began elbowing people until she found two willing second year girls to run up the stairs to the Gryffindor tower to hunt down Demelza.

"All hail the power of the Quidditch captain," Charlie grinned, looking up from Errol, who was hooting out pathetic sounding coos with every stroke of Charlie's hands.

"Nah," Angelica countered smugly, "I'm just naturally that good at getting little firsties to do my will." 

"They were second years," Bill rolled his eyes.

"Whatever," Angelica shrugged, swiping Charlie's last piece of bacon and sitting next to him.

She and Charlie fell into talking enthusiastically about the upcoming Quidditch tryouts. Bill pointed out the Slytherin team members to an ardent Marcus and an apathetic Percy until the two girls came back hauling a tight lipped Demelza between the two of them, clutching her school bag to her chest as if it contained an erumpent horn.

"I hear you want to make a trade," she said stiffly, once the girls had frog marched her over to Percy, looking at the floor by Percy's feet.

"Come on, join us, sit down," Bill said cheerfully, shifting into Percy. "You're in Gryffindor now. May as well make the most of it."

Demelza sat down miserably beside Bill, her face white.

"I'm only here until my parents find out I was put in Gryffindor. Then I'll be disowned and withdrawn out of school, left to perish in uneducated poverty," Demelza muttered glumly.

"I'm sure they wouldn't do that," Bill said bracingly, clapping her on the shoulder. Demelza just shook her head, her mouth a hard line.

"They won't," Marcus said quietly from Percy's left. "You're the only girl the Yaxleys have left. They can't disinherit you. They'll want someone to hold the family lands, even if she is in Gryffindor."

Demelza perked up a bit at that, so Percy supposed that Marcus must be right.

In Pureblooded customs, men inherited the family name, title and control of the family wealth, but the women inherited the property and the responsibility to maintain the magic with it. Hence Marcus's knowledge of Demelza's status: it was something most purebloods would have their children memorize from a young age; who were the eligible singles and would the family benefit from the liaison between the wealth and the property, or lose. Keeping track of matrilineal inheritance of property and patrilineal inheritance of wealth and name was enough to make Percy's eyes cross, but he knew most Purebloods would obsessively study the genealogies, trying to make alliances and connections with magical families the world over, the better to benefit them.

The Burrow had been Molly's inheritance through her part-Spanish mother, but it had been abandoned for years when she graduated from Hogwart's with a baby in her belly. His father told fond tales of living in a tent for the first year of Bill's life. Molly rolled her eyes and merely said if it was so great, he could try it again, but she preferred a solid roof over her head.

"Come on, Yaxley," Angelica prompted the small blond, nodding her head towards the puddle of scarf on the table and folding her arms as if to dare her, "let's see what you got."

Demelza pulled a green wrapped package out of her school bag with a sigh, shoving it across the table to Percy.

Inside the crumpled wrapping paper (silver snakes slithering up and down a green background) was a scarf in fine wool, patterned green and silver plaid on black, and rabbit fur lined green leather gloves.

Marcus was sorting through it with a professional eye:

"Keep the gloves," he said, passing them back to Demelza, "no one will notice or care about the colour anyway. We both know the scarf's not a fair trade, but it's more hassle than either of you wants than to try and hold out on the trade to get something else to even it out."

Demelza nodded, fidgeting Percy's gaudy scarf with a resigned air.

"There's jewelry too," Angelica announced, unfolding Percy's new scarf and finding a delicate box hidden within it. She looked critically at Demelza.

"Better open these," she said dubiously, passing the box to Demelza. "I don't want to get stung in the eye by some nasty curse."

Demelza only nodded, dejected, and opened the box. She pushed it over to Percy almost immediately, standing up with a grimace.

"I don't want it," she said, "you keep them."

She walked away from the table, scowling.

"Thanks for the scarf," she added, and hurried away towards the doors of the Great Hall.

Angelica sighed, looking at Bill.

"You or me?" She asked.

"You," Bill answered. "I'd look like a creep trying to get into the girl's dorm anyway." 

Angelica nodded, and pulled away from the table.

"Right," she sighed, throwing on her bag, "Prefect duty calls. Charlie, don't forget that try outs are a week Tuesday. I need your help finding a new Seeker since Gadsby graduated. If you're as good as your brother swears you are on that new broom of yours, the position could go to you. But then we'll be looking for another Chaser instead. Be there at dawn."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world!" Charlie agreed, looking up from where he had been hand feeding Errol a bit of milk, to the owl's slow eye blinks.

Marcus went to pick up the offending jewelry box, but Bill swept it away with a wave of his wand.

"Careful," he muttered, "these still might be cursed to hex whoever else touches them other than Demelza."

He swept his wand over the box several times, muttering different incantations and then shrugged, picking an earring up.

"Not dead yet," he grinned at Percy, who only shook his head at his brother's daring.

"Jeez, Percy," Charlie said, peering over the table to look at the earrings, "I bet those are real emeralds." 

Two large snakes each encircled a dark green emerald stone, reaching up towards the top of the earring. The snake's tongues flickered intermittently. The eyes were glittering stones.

"Emeralds with white gold, most likely," Marcus agreed, "and diamond for the eyes. You can't keep these Percy, she might be mad now, but she could change her mind. And you don't want to owe the Yaxleys anything."

Bill shot a glance at Marcus, and nodded approvingly.

"Just so," he agreed, snapping the box shut. "I'll hold on to them for now, hide them under some strong wards so they don't go missing. I'll get Angelica to talk to her about it again later this week."

The boys all nodded in agreement with this plan and went off in their own directions to collect their schedules for their classes, Charlie still nursing the exhausted owl.

But that night, Percy found the earrings in the bottom of his trunk. No matter how many times he brought the box back to Bill, it seemed they were enchanted to follow whoever a Yaxley had gifted them to. And Demelza herself stoutly refused to take them back.

~☆~

Tuesday afternoon came soon enough, after a rush of first day of courses that Percy found more informative about his classmate's characters than he really learned anything new academically. Marcus Flint was Quidditch crazy and loved Herbology, Terence Higgs kept up a small stream of chatter wherever he went, and Bletchley was a quiet Muggleborn who would occasionally pull Percy aside to ask penetrating questions about wizarding customs when he thought no one else could overhear.

Percy himself found that he had an easy time finding his way around the castle, his feet almost automatically following paths that he remembered from his visions. He was not comforted at all to find that his vague memories or visions usually brought him to the right place in the castle. 

And so Tuesday at 4pm when Percy loped after Professor Snape, he was surprised to follow his Head of House's long strides into his office. Percy had expected to go up the stairs leading to the Great Hall and had some vague idea that the medical unit was on the fourth floor. However, Professor Snape grabbed a small jar of Floo powder from the lintel of his fireplace and gestured for Percy to take some.

Percy did so, discomfitted again that his recollection of the hospital wing being distant enough from the dungeons to necessitate a Floo trip had been proven right, and followed Professor Snape into the Floo to the hospital wing, stumbling out several steps after him.

The school mediwitch was standing by the tall fireplace to meet them. She had her grey hair tied up in a stern bun, and was wearing the loose green robe and the apron that identified her as a mediwitch.

"Good afternoon," she greeted him with a handshake, "Percy Weasley, I presume?"

Percy took her hand cautiously.

"Yes'm" he said.

"My name is Poppy Pomfrey," the mediwitch said, gesturing for Percy to follow her into her office. She had a crowded little office, the walls covered with medical diagrams. A full model of a human skeleton hung from one corner, and a model of a human brain was glowing with little fire-work like pops of lights on her desk. She sat in a plush leather chair in the desk across from him. A little tea service waddled up next to their chairs, and Percy was pleased to notice that fresh biscuits were sitting on it, which Poppy pushed towards him. Professor Snape took the chair next to Percy, which Madam Pomfrey nodded approvingly at, turning to Percy: "Professor Snape has told me you've consented to his accompanying you?"

"Yes please," Percy said softly. He sat in the chair and tried not to squirm, nibbling at his biscuit. Mediwitches still reminded him of his stay in the hospital.

"Your Aunt Muriel has sent me a letter," the witch said matter-of-factly, tapping a parchment on her desk, "informing me that you've recently suffered a difficult loss."

Percy felt a lump immediately rise in his throat.

He set down his biscuit on his lap, stared down at his hands, speechless, and nodded.

"She tells me you hear the voice of the Healer who helped you recover after a terrible attack?"

Percy nodded, still staring at his hands.

"You're not insane for that, Percy, it's common for those who deeply grieve," the witch said, and conjured a handkerchief as he sniffled, poured him some tea that she floated towards him.

Her manner was warm, but brusque, which Percy supposed made sense for such a busy school of young charges. The ghost circled the matron's desk, touching the assorted bottled herbs and notes that were scattered on it. 

"Still, if it would make you feel better, I will run some tests," the matron added kindly. The ghost shrugged at Percy, as he tried to catch her eye, and so Percy nodded gratefully to the mediwitch. Pomfrey stood from her desk and came in front of Percy, taking out her wand.

"Just a light tickle on your forehead dear," she said when she noticed Percy eyeing the wand nervously. Percy swallowed, glanced at Snape, who merely nodded impassively. 

He turned back to the Healer and she tapped her wand lightly on top of Percy's head and he felt a wave of tingles run through his body.

Percy looked down at his arms and noticed with a start they were covered with a glowing gold shimmer.

"Your good health, Percy," Poppy said with a pleased smile. "You can see it glowing gold."

She tapped the wand again on Percy's head and he saw the glowing colour change to blue. 

"Your mental health," Poppy explained, "when everything is well, can range anywhere from a deep blue of the sky to the lightest blue of the morning, depending on your age, the time of year, and your general mood."

Percy frowned as he watched speckles of a dark, angry red, glitter across his skin.

"Red or black usually indicates irritation or anxiety. Those are burdens that you're carrying."

The ghost was watching all this from behind Percy's chair, peering behind his shoulder with curiosity.

"Are you remembering to practice your meditation or kung fu?" Madam Pomfrey asked him.

Percy frowned.

"How did you know I do those things?" He asked.

Madam Pomfrey smiled, gesturing to the letter she had sitting on her desk.

"Your Aunt Muriel asked me to inquire," Madam Pomfrey said.

Percy thought he heard a snort from Professor Snape at that.

"Hmmph," was all he said when the boy and the matron looked at him curiously.

'He's amused, Percy,' the ghost explained, leaning too close to his ear.

More red spots flickered across his skin, but the matron just tapped him in the head again, watching as his skin turned a light purple.

"Your spiritual well being," she explained as the light shimmered with gold undertones. 

Percy frowned, looking at a crack that extended from his left fingertips up to his hairline.

"What's that?" He stammered, thinking about the Hat telling him he'd consented to Dark magic. He felt Snape lean in closer as well, and thought he detected a frown on the man's face.

"You were attacked, Percy," the matron said gently, tapping the wand again so that the colors disappeared, and stepped back to sit again behind her desk . "Nobody knows who did it, or what their aims were. But such dark magics leave a mark."

Percy shivered in spite of himself at the finality of her tone, brushing his fingers along his left arm. Without the image, he would never have guessed at the deep wound that marked his aura with its angry burnt edges. 

"Do you have any questions, Percy," she asked him kindly.

Percy thought again about the hat telling him he had consented to dark magic, and squirmed in his seat.

He wanted to ask the matron about it, but the dark arts were almost too terrible to mention. What if she told his mother that his problems were his own fault?

He clenched his fists against his pants and shook his head at the matron.

"I'm fine, Madam Pomfrey," he said, "thank you."

The ghost frowned at Percy, but Madam Pomfrey was already standing up to dismiss him.

"You're welcome Percy," she answered, smiling warmly and offering her hand again as they came to the fireplace, "come back any time you have questions."

Professor Snape accompanied him back to his office, and to Percy's surprise, pulled out a chair for Percy and set it by his fireplace, sitting across from him on the settee.

"You have more questions," Snape said. It wasn't a question.

Percy sighed.

It seemed like Snape could read him as well as his Aunt Muriel could.

He fingered his fraying robe sleeve, chewing his lip. Snape was his Head of House, but he didn't know whether or not he would be horrified by his questions.

'You can trust him, Percy,' the ghost whispered, circling Snape slowly as she studied him. Percy squirmed more.

If the ghost wasn't a hallucination, and wasn't a ghost, was it possible she was a manifestation of dark magic?

But still, the only person who was in charge of his well being sat across from him, and he had no one else to confess his worries to, so Percy took a deep breath and blurted out:

"What if the vision is Dark magic?"

Snape nodded gravely, as though he'd expected the question:

"It's extremely unlikely, Percy," he said. "Has it ever seemed to drain you, or others of energy?"

Percy shook his head, biting his lip.

"Has it ever seemed to take over your mind, or impair or influence your decision making?"

"It gives me advice sometimes," Percy admitted.

"And is that advice ever what you consider amoral?" 

Percy shook his head.

"Sometimes I don't know if it's a good idea or not," he said, thinking of his decision to confide in the very man he was speaking to.

But Snape only nodded at this.

"Such is the nature of advice," he agreed, "we can never know if following it would have been better than not. Because after we choose a course of action, we can only know what the consequences of that particular choice were. We can imagine what the consequences of another choice might have been, but we can never know for certain."

Percy blinked at this, trying to make head or tails of the puzzle Snape had pointed out to him.

Snape leaned back in his chair, studying him. Jars of potion ingredients were squeezed side by side on tall shelves behind Snape, frog legs and owls feathers, grasshopper wings and powdered bones and horns. And eyes. So many glittering eyes of all shapes and colours,twirling in their preserving fluid, eerily alive. Percy felt all the weight of the thousands of eyes staring at him, unsatisfied.

"Is there anything else, Percy?" Snape asked.

Percy bit his lip again.

'He knows there is something,' the voice informed him, hovering by Percy's shoulder. 'Go ahead, ask him.'

Percy thought of the dark spots that had flares across his aura when the ghost leaned too close and took a deep breath.

"The hat told me I consented to Dark magic," Percy whispered, hanging his head. "Most of my memories from the weeks around my attack are totally gone. What if-- what if I did?"

Even the question made tears shimmer in his eyes, and he swallowed heavily. The notion had been on his mind every minute he had not been directly occupied in something else, the ghost that followed him a constant reminder of his probable guilt.

"It is possible you were convinced into consenting to a ritual in the Dark Arts," Snape agreed slowly, his dark eyes studying Percy's. 

The solemn acceptance somehow made the notion paradoxically worse. It made his fear more real, less a vague gnawing possibility. Percy felt his stomach drop.

"Nothing could convince me of that!" Percy insisted in a barely audible whisper, his face whitening in shock and his hands suddenly fists gripping his robes.

"Nothing, Percy?" Snape asked him, as Percy felt his head spin at Snape's words. "Not even if someone told you you could prevent a great harm from happening? Or that you could protect your family or your loved ones?"

Snape looked suddenly weary.

Percy's protest caught in his throat. Visions of his family, dead, ran through his head, one after another of their starved faces...

"Then my attacker gave me visions to manipulate me!" Percy gasped. "And I've been tormented by them!"

Snape leaned forward.

"Percy," he said, grasping Percy's knee as his head whirled. 

Percy was physically sick. He could barely hear as Snape spoke:

"You must not assume this vision is dark magic! Child!" Snape said, as Percy shook his head in denial, the sobs he had held against wracking his body in silent shudders, his eyes screwed shut as if he could hold the tears back, "would you take away your only comfort after the loss of your friend? What if it is her spirit, whispering to you? Would you sully this blessing by insisting it is Dark?"

But Percy could barely take this in, overcome.

Snape sighed, and Percy was vaguely aware that he had stood, and oh God, but Percy was alone-- he heard rustling behind him and Snape was kneeling beside him, a potion bottle in his hand. Snape's hand was on his neck, and Percy perceived a powerful wave of calm that wasn't his own wash over him, enough to still his heaving tears.

"Drink this," Snape said gruffly, and Percy, long used to A'Jiao's medicines, doffed the bottle quickly.

He sat for a while hiccupping, watching as the ghost studied Snape, studying him.

The ghost turned towards him, her eyes a mockery of A'Jiao's, solemn and mournful.

'Percy,' the ghost said gently, reaching to touch him, 'you must not fear me.'

The ghost brushed against Snape as she touched Percy's shoulder, and again Percy felt the odd sense of a comfort that wasn't his own wash through him.

Every line in Snape's body went watchful and tense in that moment.

His face completely stiffened, and his eyes locked onto Percy's, his grip on his knee tightening.

Percy felt a presence scour through his memories, and he was falling backward into his memories of those first confusing weeks in the hospital, to that great angry blank that came before it.

The ghost swatted Snape, and he blinked.

Percy whimpered, collapsing in on himself.

"Forgive me, Percy," Snape muttered, shifting. "I thought for a moment that--" he cut himself off, leaving the sentence hanging.

The potion must have been starting to kick in, because Percy felt himself drifting away from his ragged pieces of memories, focusing on the crackling of the fire and Snape's heavy weight beside him.

"Percy," Snape said, shifting to grip Percy's shoulder. "Promise me one thing."

Percy sniffed, managed to straighten to look at Snape, at his long robes trailing on the floor, his many buttons glimmering in the fire light.

"Stay away from Albus Dumbledore," Snape warned him.

Percy blinked.

Nothing much could surprise him beneath the lulling haze of the calming draught, so he merely titled his head.

"Why?" He asked frankly, thinking of the Headmaster's long silver beard, his colorful robes and cheerful smile.

"Powerful magicians like Dumbledore aren't nearly as naive about the Dark Arts as they would have you think. If you spend too much time in his presence, Percy, he will be able to read in your aura whether or not your exposure to dark magic was by consent."

Percy felt a vague sense of horror crawling underneath the medically induced calm, but he pushed it away. So Snape was truly suspicious that Percy had consented to the Dark magic that had cracked his soul, he could see it in this warning.

"So what if he knows?" Percy asked dully, wondering if Snape knew how tightly he was gripping Percy's shoulder at those words. He wondered if he would find bruises on his shoulder later.

"Albus Dumbledore would make assumptions about you, Percy, assumptions you cannot afford to have a magician of his power make about you."

Percy considered this, tumbling the idea over in his mind, trying to find a way to make it fit in what he knew of his parent's near adoration of the man, his Aunt's quiet skepticism. 

'He's right you know, Percy' the ghost whispered, resuming her careless wandering around the room, her inspection of the potion bottles.

"And if he makes assumptions, if he gets a sense of what he could use against you..." Snape's eyes became burning coals. "Do not allow yourself to become Albus Dumbledore's pawn, Percy. Do not even put yourself into the position where you could become that."

Such was the weight of Snape's intensity, it cut through Percy's dreamlike haze, the anxiety piercing him to his heart.

"I won't, " he promised, his mouth run suddenly dry. "I'll stay away from him."

Snape nodded once, jerkily, and stood up, dusting off his knees.

"Very, very well, Percy," Snape said.

Even to Percy, he sounded unsteady somehow.

"That is enough for one day, I should think. You must be getting to your next class."

Percy nodded, still floating on the artificial calm of the potion, threw on his bookbag, and turned out the door of Snape's office.

He thought he saw Snape standing with his head in his hands as he left the room, but perhaps it was only a trick of his eyes, because when he turned to say a thank you and a good bye, the man was standing impassively, a cool expression on his face.

~☆~

"The Dark Arts," Snape intoned, his coal dark eyes sweeping along those gathered in the Slytherin common room, the students rapt, their eyes reflecting the eerie green light of the enchanted fire, "are not evil, though they can be used to do great evil, do not mistake it."

Percy scowled at this pronouncement, burying his nose deeper into his scroll and shrinking further into the sofa. Snape might have frowned to see it, but Percy found for one rebellious moment he didn’t care, hidden behind the wall of eager students who sat crowded in front of him, their eyes glued to Snape as he paced in front of the enormous fireplace.

A month and a bit after their first defense class, the bare truth was plain for even the first years to see: their actual Defense teacher was nothing more than a down on his luck pest exterminator who had agreed to take the post for only one term.

He barely did more in class than have them all read silently through the textbook, although occasionally the students would do "practicals" in cleaning out Filch's closets of doxies or pixies.

And so a group of upper year Slytherins had gone to Snape on his office hour and requested that he do a monthly supplemental defense lecture in the common room on Thursday evenings. Percy hated to think what kind of favour they had promised Snape in return, for he had agreed to the request.

"What distinguishes the Dark Arts from other practices is not the destruction that can be done with the spell-- do not let those who would tell you so convince you! No, what classifies a spell or a ritual as dark is that the magic demands a price." 

Then again, maybe they hadn't had to offer Snape anything; from the rapturous tone in his voice, he sounded enamoured himself. The silver lamps that normally lit the common room with a calming morning like glow were turned low, and the room had been lit with huge pillar candles instead for the upcoming samhain celebrations. The light of the candles caused shadows to flicker across Snape's face as he spoke in a low tone, his voice caressing the words one by one as he spoke.

"More benign spells ask for a price from the caster, or from the environment. But spells can also demand a price of that person who the spell is performed on."

Percy tried not to let his quill blotch on the scroll as he considered what of this lecture to record. Of course, he had not wanted to miss out on an opportunity for additional studies, and so had been at first glad that the upper years had taken it upon themselves to be sure that their House, at least, got a proper education on the Dark Arts. Although Percy's theoretical knowledge was widely praised as excellent, and he seemed to be able to remember the spells and wand movements nearly instinctively, he struggled with having enough raw power to throw into his spells. Professor Flitwick had once called his spells "half hearted" and Percy had been forced to concede the truth of this assessment; he could only make a feather hover an inch off the desk rather than rising to the ceiling, a spark or two spring from his wand where others could produce a shower of flares. And so he had come to the lecture with hopes that he could learn to become stronger, coax the magic out of his reluctant soul. Instead, he was beginning to suspect he was getting an unwanted defense of the dark arts rather than the rather more appropriate defense against the dark arts.

"This is why the Dark Arts were originally banned," Snape explained, looming over the seated students, his face a mask of hallow lines. 

The students, even the upper years, were captivated by this performance. They hung on his every word. Little Corliss Davie's mouth was half hanging open as she craned her neck up to stare in awe at Snape.

Percy tried to disappear into the sofa, scribbling nonsense on his scroll. It wouldn't do to appear unenthusiastic, lest he be singled out for one of Snape's tongue lashings. But he couldn't help but feel that Slytherin House, its Head and its students, were currently performing to every single one of the negative stereotypes about them, revelling in the power of magics that had been forbidden and taboo for a good reason:

"A powerful magician can force their will onto the person subjected to the spell, and demand the payment of the price from them. Then, it becomes a battle of wills between the magicians engaged in the fight, to see who will prevail."

The fire crackled a strange green, casting a sickly sheen on to Snape's sallow face as he spoke. The water of the Black Lake was murky this time of year, so close to the winter solstice, and the windows to the lake reflected only the lights of the fires and the distorted faces of the students, though the blurred reflections hinted of hidden depths below.

The Head, with his ever-present flair for dramatics, had arranged this particular seminar for the night before the Hallowe'en feast.

Snape leaned back away from the furiously scribbling students, a satisfied look on his face.

"Much simpler, of course, to do the Dark Arts on consent. After all, who wishes to risk that their own spell backfires on them?"

At this, Percy shivered in spite of the many candles casting their warmth around the common room. It seemed that even Snape himself suspected that Percy had consented to some kind of Dark spell. And who knew what he had agreed to give up for whatever little good the spell had done? His sanity? His peace of mind?

Percy wrote a couple of cursory notes on his parchment. 

-dark arts dangerous he wrote, have high cost.

This was child's play, of course, everyone knew that. But writing down the technicalities of what Snape was saying seemed dangerous; he was already placed in Slytherin. He didn't need his mother finding his notes when he came home from school holidays and making assumptions about how the House had corrupted him.

His mother's reaction to Percy's sorting had not been the Howler that he feared, but a multi-page reminder to "stick to the morals your Dad and I taught you", spend time with his brothers, and to try and make friends in other Houses so that he wouldn't get sucked in to the "warped ethos of Slytherin House" without "another perspective to balance it out." 

His Dad's letter had been of a similar vein: to beware of the false allure of ambition without morals, to be extremely careful of any promises he made, not to blindly trust his fellow Slytherins, always being careful to watch his back. "If something seems too good to be true," his Dad ominously ended, "it probably is." Percy decided that on the balance, his Dad's letter was more offensive; his fellow Slytherins after all, were just other kids like him. And if every student got such a letter, they would all be stuck second guessing each other until the time they graduated, precluding any possibility of true friendship and leaving only shallow alliances behind. Another form of self-fulfilling prophecy, Percy supposed-- they were at risk of becoming what others feared they already were merely out of heeding the warnings of the skeptical.

"Are there any questions," Snape asked, and more than a dozen hands shot in the air.

Percy swallowed a sigh. 

It was times like these that he despaired for his Housemates. Did they really have to conform to House stereotypes in their seemingly universal fascination with the Dark Arts? 

Of course, according to the Sorting Hat, Percy himself fit the stereotype. 

"Can a person be tricked or coerced into consenting to a Dark spell?" Henley Jugson asked. The beefy upper year beater sat in the front row of Slytherin students, his wide shoulders hunched over his scroll as he furiously recorded Snape's answer:

"Excellent question," Snape approved, "As many of you know all too well, this defense was attempted after the fall of the Dark Lord," Percy watched the back of heads nodding, students weary with the knowledge of their relatives' trials. "And it failed," Snape concluded, to the miserable acknowledgement of the gathered students. "Not that the Wizengamot is always the perfect purveyor of justice!" Again, nods and smirks of agreement passed around the room. It was a particularly bold statement on Snape's part, Percy couldn't help but think, given that none other than the Headmaster himself, Albus Dumbledore, was the head of the Wizengamot. "A project perhaps, for an especially ambitious Slytherin to take on," Snape added, eyeing third year Gemma Fawley. Slytherin heads swiveled to take in the red head, who nodded solemnly at Snape's words, her face a mask of flickering shadows in the candlelight.

Even Percy, who rarely took in Slytherin gossip, knew that she was taking all the courses to prepare her for taking over her family seat on the Wizengamot from her aging Grandmother. Both Gemma's parents had been sentenced to the Kiss early in the war, and she herself had been raised by her Aunt.

"But for once, the Wizengamot got it right," Snape concluded. "Consent in the Dark Arts is magically binding. It can not be produced by coercion or manipulation, as coercion is the opposite of consent."

A dozen or so heads nodded, and wrote furiously on their scrolls.

-dark spells can be forced on another, he wrote, or can work on consent. True consent cannot be the result of coercion or manipulation. 

Percy shivered, thinking of that Tuesday in September when he had gone to Pomfrey to ask her about possession. The image she had shown Percy of the dark cracked line that ran from his fingertips on his left hand all the way up his arm, across his neck, up his face and disappearing into his hairline had worked its way into his nightmares. It was a horrible thing to behold; even Snape had winced. Percy had since comforted himself, telling himself that he must have been tricked into agreeing to the spell. His parents often spoke ominously of the capabilities of powerful magicians to convince or coerce naive witches and wizards into doing their bidding. But now even this small bit of comfort was being taken from him. Percy pulled his robe deeper around him, wondering morosely what would could possibly cause him to consent to a Dark spell.

~☆~

'What did you think about what Snape said about the Wizengamot?' The ghost asked Percy in a rare quiet moment after his Herbology class on Friday. 

As the middle child of 7, Percy thought he knew what it meant to be constantly surrounded by others, but the hectic pace of huge dining rooms, classrooms, and even sharing dorm rooms had left him craving solitude. And so he sat under a nearly bare willow tree by the Black Lake, Demelza's large scarf wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Percy had discovered the scarf had a heating function that was charmed to turn on when it was cold outside. He could barely imagine that such a fine garment was his, and still had the strange feeling that it was only on loan.

The charmed scarf was very helpful though, on moments like these, when he sat studying the grey waves of the Black Lake, the golden leaves of the willows the only spot of brightness in the dreary grey day.

The ghost trailed her fingers across the bark of the willow Percy sat leaning against, circling the tree as Percy shivered against a gust of wind.

'No opinion,' Percy answered flatly. He had been on the outs with the ghost since his strange conversation with Snape. What if the ghost was some kind of manifestation of Dark Magic? An after effect of his naive childhood agreement, one that he couldn't even remember making? 

Percy had begun to catalogue all the ways the ghost was different from A'Jiao, to make ignoring her gentle prodding, her haunting singing, easier. She was taller than A'Jiao. Her eyes slightly rounder, her nose a bit bigger, her accent gone. He recited these facts to himself now, reminding himself: she's not A'Jiao.

The ghost sighed, sat down next to Percy looking out at the Black Lake.

'You can't avoid me forever,' she said.

Percy didn't respond, staring at the flock of pink footed geese that were coming in to land on the lake, a chorus of honking and flapping wings as they glided to a splash landing of riotous spraying water.

~☆~

By the time he was preparing for his end of year exams, Percy was taking ignoring the ghost to a practiced art. 

He practiced spells constantly outside of class time, dismayed at the lacklustre results. His visions stubbornly insisted that his spray of half hearted sparks should be a shower; his lumos more a torch than a small match like flicker.

'Percy,' the ghost sighed, as Percy repeated the wand movements obsessively in an abandoned classroom outside the common room entrance, 'you can't force it.'

Percy sank against the cold stone wall of the dungeons, sinking his head into his hands. He was tired. His house mates were sympathetic, his teachers understanding, but the fact remained; even little Ginny seemed to have more magical power than he did. It was the measure of his despair that he answered the voice for the first time since the fateful day in September when he saw the dark scar crawling across his soul:

'What do you recommend I do, then?' He asked, dropping his wand to the floor with a sigh.

'Something is wrong, Percy,' the ghost answered, floating over from where she had been sitting morosely in a care worn chair, 'your magic should be stronger.'

"Stating the obvious, aren't you?" He said it out loud, his voice harsh and sarcastic against the stone walls.

The ghost floated to kneeling in front of Percy, reaching out to touch his face.

He didn't feel anything, of course, he never did. But something in those silver eyes managed to reassure him, though Percy fought against the feeling.

Tears fell in large dark splotches against his shirt.

'Percy,' the ghost said, kneeling down beside him to touch him on the shoulder, 'you've got to talk to someone about this.'

"My teachers just say not everyone has the... power," Percy choked out.

The ghost sighed, leaned back on her heels.

'You need to ask someone competent in diagnosing magical blocks,' she corrected herself.

Percy sniffled, wiping the tears away from his eyes. It had been a lonely year. He woke his dorm mates with his nightmares so often that eventually Snape had begun leaving vials of calming draught by his bedside table every night. He had friends yes, mostly with Marcus and Miles, although they had kept to their word and would do study evenings with Penelope and a group of her friends. But he missed his family terribly, the quiet hum of the kitchen in the mornings, the sound of his mother and Aunt Muriel talking in low voices, the crowing of the roosters waking him.

Percy found he could write his essays without fretting, recalling information that other students had to study over for days. He was fastidious, always double checking his assertions, but would inevitably find a reference to what he had already stated. It was uncanny. He would have had straight O's, but for his practical work, which he could only ever manage to pull off an "acceptable" for.

"All right," Percy sighed, looking up at the ghost with reluctance, "I'll go to Madam Pomfrey."

~☆~

Percy sat in the Slytherin common room, watching the water of the Black Lake pummel against the windows, the seaweed dancing in the turmoiled waves.

Madam Pomfrey's words kept running through his mind again and again: "your magic Percy," she sighed, showing him again the dark scar crawling across his aura, "it was damaged in the attack."

Percy had sat up on the bed, astounded.

"But why hasn't anyone told me this before?" He demanded. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

Madam Pomfrey sat beside his bed, leaning towards him, her face lined with wrinkles.

"It wasn't certain," she sighed, massaging her forehead before she focused her piercing blue eyes back on Percy. "You might have recovered. And if I had said anything, if the Healers before had said something, your mind might have latched onto it, your worries worsened, making your recovery less likely."

"A self-fulfilling prophecy," Percy whispered, slumping back into his bed.

Madam Pomfrey sent him a sharp look, but Percy barely noticed. 

The ghost was pacing in agitated circles by his bedside. Percy had never seen her distressed before.

'This wasn't supposed to happen,' the ghost said faintly, shaking her head as she stared at him. 'Things weren't supposed to be this way.'

Percy, watching a grindelow fight against the current that was pushing it into the common room window two weeks later, couldn't help but think that the ghost was right.

Marcus slipped into the common room and came to sit next to Percy.

"Ready to go home?" He asked, as the common room lights turned from a low glow to the bright intensity that signified the morning had come.

Percy had been packed for a week. 

"Yeah," he nodded at Marcus. "I am."

He walked to the Great Hall with Marcus to eat breakfast, the ghost trailing after him, still in shock. 

And so Percy's first year at Hogwart's ended ("not with a bang, but a whimper," the ghost whispered in his ear, as the train pulled away from the castle).


	7. Corruption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all my lovely readers! Although normally I aim for weekly updates, as the chapters get longer, I have lost all my buffer space. Therefore, next weekend I will not update, in order to gain the buffer space back. Enjoy this week's update and sorry for the delay!

Charlie was going to be Quidditch captain and Bill was going to be Head Boy. Their badges had come in the mail the week after Percy's birthday, and they were both grinning with undisguised pride at the enormous celebratory meal Molly had made.

It had been a good summer for their family. Arthur had managed to land a job at the Ministry, and so didn't have to work long 12 hour shifts any more at a second hand store in Diagon Alley. The job meant more money for the family too, and Percy had noticed his summer chores were less imbued with the frantic energy they once had been; their garden and livestock were no longer one last stopper against hunger, but an additional source of benefit. 

His mother ruffled his hair affectionately as she served out the cake to celebrate his brother's achievements and his father's new job.

"Getting plenty long, son," she said. "We'll have to cut it soon."

"I like it like this," Percy mumbled, not meeting her eyes.

"Hmmm," Molly answered, her eyes narrowing.

Her attitude promised a talk later.

Muriel patted his arm.

"Now, now, Molly, feed the boy some cake," she said, "he needs some meat on his bones, after all!"

Percy smiled gratefully at her, and his mother's attention went back to passing around slices of pink and yellow checkered sponge cake, diverted at least for the moment.

His parents knew of his problems with magic: Madam Pomfrey had sent them a letter at his request. This, at least, they had taken in stride, assuring Percy that there were still plenty of things he could do in life without strong magic. But it was Aunt Muriel who had most understood Percy's absolute despair at not being powerful. She had lived through three wars, and knew Percy craved the protection strong magic could grant.

"Keep meditating, keep practicing kung fu" she told him, "it will help maintain the connection to the magic you do have, and help it to flow as well as possible."

"So that's why you were always so insistent I practice!" Percy exclaimed, his eyes widening. They had been sitting in her granny flat sipping tea and getting caught up several days after Percy's return from school. The evening sun had been bright in the sky despite the late hour; it was high summer and the evenings were still pleasantly cool.

"What's good for the body, is good for the mind and spirit as well Percy," she answered, her spoon clinking against her tea cup, "and meditation and kung fu benefit all three. Why wouldn't I want my grandson to have all the best opportunities?"

Percy had nodded slowly.

"Is there anything else I can do, Aunt Muriel?" He asked softly, staring down into his tea.

His Aunt had sighed, and looked suddenly as old as her age.

"You and I both know the answer to that Percy," she answered quietly.

Percy looked up, and their eyes locked.

He swallowed, nodded.

They did both know there was something he could do; rituals and practices that would tie him more to the ancestral lands, to his body.

His parents never spoke of such things, and it wasn't polite to mention it, but of course, family land was essential to a family's magic. He had known this years ago, when A'Jiao had been offered access to the family lands for a year and a day, but since being sorted into Slytherin, he had heard hints of more benefits than just the ability to Apparate farther.

What he had learned from a year in Slytherin was this: the magics gained from doing rituals on the land were different for each family and for each place they had ancestral land. This was why women's inheritance of land and magical rituals was so significant in Pureblood families; most men were never taught the full rituals of the family magic. These secrets stayed with the women, and had historically been used to maintain women's power in decision making despite not inheriting the family seat in the Wizengamot. But now women could inherit the Wizengamot seat, and more men were practicing rituals.

The problem with rituals was that they were often obvious. Refusing to cut hair or beards was one way of ensuring as much power as possible accumulated in the body, but it was like advertising it to the world with a giant flashing sign. And there were rules about it, too. In most families, only the man and wife would grow their hair long, the son gaining his strength from his fidelity to his parents, shown for all in his short hair. But even this was not strict; some people would grow their hair on certain lands, or cut it at certain times of the year, or only allow it to grow for a certain number of days and then shave it; Aunt Muriel had explained there were many variations depending on the culture and the family magic.

The Weasleys eschewed these practices, labelled them as Dark. They weren't illegal, but even Aunt Muriel admitted that they worked on a principle of exchange; the dedication would pay back only what was given. Percy, for his part, wondered at how much his mother even understood about the rituals; her father had been a Squib and her mother had died when Molly was young, one of Voldemort's first victims. Molly's mother's sudden death had been unsolved for years. When her body was found, it was covered in sickly runes that indicated she had been a victim to a Dark ritual, she the unwilling sacrifice. Given the early loss, Molly had no one to teach her her mother's magic when she was young, and nothing but horror when it came to rituals.

"Did you ever teach Mom the family magic?" Percy dared to whisper, a shudder running through him at the taboo of speaking of it. He knew men could learn these days, he did! But it felt intensely private to speak of, almost shameful for a boy to ask his great great Aunt such a question.

His Aunt Muriel pursed her lips, but didn't scold him, merely sipping her tea thoughtfully.

"The way I understand it, by the time that her Grandmother thought she was old enough to learn, your mother was also old enough to develop her own prejudices against the traditions," She explained, her gaze far away.

"Head strong girl," Aunt Muriel added, shaking her head, half in consternation and half in pride.

Ironically, there was power in refusing to practice tradition too. Those who kept their hair short, who defied expectations and thumbed their nose at attempts to accumulate power were either arrogant enough to believe their own power was sufficient, or attracted the magic of defiance. Percy suspected his parents had this magic in droves. The weakness to it, the reason Slytherin sneered at such a power was that it left people open to the simplest of attacks; it was a magic that could defy mayhem that would befall the strongest wizard, but could be felled by the slightest wisp of air in an unexpected moment.

The Slytherin students, long revelers in the taboo and the forbidden, would joke endlessly in the common room, that the magic was Gryffindor's specialty. They would even go so far as agreeing to avoid openly antagonizing declared enemies of Slytherin, not wanting to fuel the chances that someone else would unwittingly be granted a geas of defiance through taking on the House's wrath.

The shadows were Slytherin's, this was what was taught in the common rooms. But rituals could not be hidden, not all of them. And with the fluff of his hair and the glare from his mother, Percy knew a fight was brewing on the horizon with his parents.

~☆~

But it was Bill who confronted Percy, his arms crossed as Percy crept into the darkened living room late one night, his feet covered in dirt.

Percy could think of no greater place of magical significance to himself than the meadow where he had been found in a circle of spell fire all those years ago. And so he went every night at midnight to sit under the tree where he had once seen ghostly figures entwining. His Aunt Muriel had told him the family magics she had to teach were "women's things" and refused to expand on this further. But she encouraged him to listen to the Earth herself, listen and see what he should do to strengthen her magics. It was all he did, really, just sit and meditate by the trees.

The ghost herself sat with him, silent as the tomb most nights. Tonight he had been tempted to quit, but her steadfast presence kept his dedication despite the rain. His cloak was soaked through from the rain, his pants and bare feet muddy.

"Fancy meeting you here," Bill said dryly, turning on an oil lamp and stepping out from the darkened corner of the living room as Percy eased the front door closed, holding his breath and listening for his family. 

Percy jumped despite the warning, his hand to his heart.

"Bill," he said, breathless for a moment. For weeks now he had expected his mother or father to confront him on these midnight jaunts. Seeing Bill brought a strange mixture of relief and anger that he didn't fully understand rise to his chest.

"Where were you, Percy, " Bill asked bluntly. "I know you've been going out every night."

Percy scowled, taking off his cloak and hanging it on the hall tree his father had once carved for his mother, "What's it to you?" He asked bluntly, shouldering past Bill and going to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, marvelling as he did so at the stream of steady water that flowed from the faucet. His mother had always said that if they had money, the first thing they would buy would be indoor plumbing. Percy shuddered to think of the loans his father must now owe for it; but with a ministry job, finally they were credit worthy. He turned to glare at Bill, who had followed him into the kitchen, the ghost trailing silently after.

"You're not my parent," Percy accused him, his cheeks flushed, "you can't tell me what to do."

If Bill had reacted, had argued back, they would have had a row, and Percy might have been able to feel justified and self righteous. But Bill didn't rise to the bait. He nodded heavily in acknowledgement, pulled out a chair at the kitchen table.

"You're right," Bill agreed softly, "I'm not. "

For some unknown reason, this brought tears to Percy's eyes. He crossed his arms, blinked back the tears, still feeling stand offish.

"Then why are you here? Mom and Dad don't seem to care."

Bill sighed, waving his hand so that a pot floated down onto the stove, a burner lit. He had turned 17 in March, and already used wandless magic nearly flawlessly. 

"They care, Perce," Bill said, pointedly floating down two mugs and setting one on the table next to him, "Dad asked me to talk to you about it."

Percy pulled out the chair next to Bill and sat in it grudgingly. He was reminded of all the reasons Bill had been made Head Boy in that moment: he was even tempered, friendly, and could pull even Percy out of a mood.

"Why you?" He muttered, glaring at the kettle, beginning to rattle on the stove.

"Dad talked Mom out of it," he answered, "which is for the best, anyway. You know how she gets about these things."

Percy grimaced. That the least, was a point he had to concede. His mother could be a nightmare when something didn’t go the way she thought it should.

"And Dad?" He asked, unable to keep the bitter note from entering his voice.

The kettle began to cry, a high note that interrupted Bill's response. He stood up to busy himself with it, pouring them both a cup of chamomile from the sprigs that were drying by the stove, and adding a teaspoon of honey in each cup. Percy found himself on his feet automatically, washing the water glass he had finished, putting away the honey for Bill, cooperative despite himself.

"Look, Perce," Bill answered after they were both sitting again, a cup of tea steaming in front of each of them, "you and Dad don't always get along, it seems."

Percy's shoulders slumped at this remark. The thing about Bill was that he always made difficult truths seem bearable. No one else could have said that to Percy without Percy either clamming up and refusing to talk any further, or outright denying it.

The problem between Percy and his father had started when Percy was young. He had overheard his mother and his Great Grandmother Sufia arguing in whispers one late night before Christmas.

"Almost Yule!" Great Grandmother had said, "And there's not even a crust of bread in this house! How do you expect to feed all six children of yours with that scoundrel of a husband in jail?"

Charlie half growled at this to jump up from where he and Bill were kneeling by the floorboards, listening to the voices that rose up through the vents and into their shared bedroom, but Bill gripped his arm to pull him back down, put his fingers to his lips.

"Don't talk about my husband like that," Molly snapped back, her voice rising in a familiar volume, "he's innocent, I know it!"

There was a silence for a while. Bill lowered his ear and pressed it close to the vent, his eyes screwed shut in concentration when Great Grandmother's voice cut through again, strong and clear.

"That may be," she said slowly, "he never has seemed the type to join the Death Eaters."

"Not the type!" Molly spluttered, "my husband despises those fools who put on his robes!"

"All of this is besides the point!" Great Grandmother retorted, her tone harsh. "You foolish girl, you should have called me! How do you plan on feeding your children?"

The sound of dishes being put in the sink, a muttered spell as the water ran over them, a clacking as the dishes washed themselves.

"I'll find a way!" Their mother's stubborn tone.

"Will you now?" Great Grandmother asked skeptically. "I don't think you will. If you could have, you would have already. I wouldn't have to walk in here to give you an update on your uncles' hopeless trials to find the hearth warmed only by spell fire and the cupboards bare! No, my stubborn child, you have your hands full enough with taking care of your children and your house, you have no time to find a job on top of it all. You will take the money I give you, and you will use it to put food in your children's mouths!"

The sound of a bag landing on the kitchen table, the unmistakable rattling of coins settling. The scraping of chairs, a body sitting heavily down.

"I'll pay you back," Molly's voice; small, miserable.

"You'll do no such fool thing," Sufia responded. "You're my family. And at least in Islam, women always have control of their own money."

A heavy sigh.

"Grandma--"

"You don't like to hear it, but it's true! Your life would have been easier if you had married the man Muriel found for you in Pakistan. He was a nice young man, a well established teacher with a good salary, and handsome too. You could have left this whole foul war behind you and joined your cousins in Pakistan. But before you even graduated Hogwart's, you come to your father and tell him you were pregnant! By a man three years your senior, who should have known better! An unemployed man who thought he would play at being a soldier, but without the pay to go with it! Well, at least Arthur had the decency to ask for your hand, not--" Muriel sniffed, "that he had any mahr to give your father, as is only proper."

Molly groaned, and there was a sound of a scraping chair, as if their mother had stood to leave.

"Grandma," she protested, "please not now, I don't need this now."

"Hmmph!" Great Grandma Sufia snorted, "well, my child, truly it is too late, despite that mahr is exactly for these types of situations, so that a woman will never be caught without some form of financial backstop! You had best believe I'll be dropping by in a month or so, with more money, so you make sure those children get fed! Not to mention yourself. For if Sophia Bones is right, you're expecting another?"

Charlie gripped onto Bill's arm; Percy frowned. Could that mean what he thought it did?

"Whatever happened to patient-midwife confidentiality?" Molly gasped.

"Well, there's my answer to that," Great Grandmother Sufia sniffed, "and you should know better than to go to a retired midwife for help if you wanted confidentiality. You know very right well that woman hasn't been the same since her children all died. And she's my cousin besides. She felt it was only her duty to warn me of the situation Arthur has got you into!"

"That meddling old witch. I'll hex her!"

"You'll do no such fool thing, Margarita Weasley," Great Grandmother Sufia answered. "It's only because of her I'm here at all!"

"The truth comes out," Molly's voice, strangely young sounding, petulant.

"Well, I have been negligent in visiting, and Sophia's news reminded me that it had been too long! Imagine what I felt when I heard my own granddaughter was suffering from malnutrition! And while five months pregnant besides! What in the world were you and Arthur thinking, getting pregnant again? The last thing you need is another child, what with the twins barely out of diapers!" 

Their voices faded away, as Molly went to walk her Grandmother back to the Floo.

The boys sat dumbfounded, looking at each other. Percy wondered where they would put a baby; he and Charlie and Bill already shared a room, and the twins and Ron shared another. 

"Come on," Bill had whispered, as they heard their mother's footsteps coming up the stairs, "to bed."

But as Percy lied in bed that night, squeezing his eyes shut and pretending to sleep as his mother looked in on them, his Great Grandmother's words echoed in his ears. He clenched his little hands into fists, angry at his father for everything: for being poor, for being in jail while he, his brothers, and his pregnant mother suffered.

After his attack, Percy had also struggled with strange memories of things his father had said to him that seemed impossible; insults about Percy's perfectionism, his social skills, his judgement: an argument that made no sense but overwhelmingly conveyed a sense of doubt in Percy. He had been having enough trouble sorting this strange vision out from his actual memories of his father, and so when Arthur had responded badly to Percy's sorting, a door had slammed closed again in Percy's heart.

"So Dad put you up to this," he said to Bill, sitting next to his brother at the kitchen table, the window open to a late summer breeze at midnight, the rain falling softly outside. 

"I offered to speak to you," Bill corrected him gently. "I thought you might tell me more than if either of them try to bring it up with you."

"So anything I say, you're just going to go back to them and tell them?" Percy knew he was being childish, but he couldn't help it. He felt cold and lonely and prickly in his damp clothes as he sat with his brother, his parents nowhere to be seen, but hovering just beyond the conversation, their presence as palpable as the ghost's.

"They already know you're practicing the old ways," Bill answered simply. "I'm not going to give them details they don't need to know. Look Percy," Bill said earnestly, and his hand was on Percy's shoulder, his blue eyes wide and sincere, "I just want to know you're not going to hurt yourself. The wandless ways are dangerous."

Percy felt tears rise unbidden in his eyes for the second time that night, and he let Bill pull him into a hug. 

Bill was using the right terminology at least. Snape had gone on and on about the different categories of dark and grey magics the year prior, explaining that any wandless magic was technically dark, as it channelled the power from a wizard's body directly, without the wand to access the Beyond that replenished their magical cores. But the rituals, the old ways, the wandless ways, as Bill called them; yes, they had been practiced before wands. And yes, they could be dangerous, if one took energy carelessly or by force.

"All I'm doing is sitting under a tree and meditating!" Percy choked out, scrubbing the tears away from his eyes. "What's such a big deal about that?"

Bill huffed a laugh, running his hand through Percy's hair.

"And growing your hair," he teased him gently. 

Percy couldn't help himself, he laughed too, and pulled away.

"Is that really it, Percy?" Bill asked, after he had a moment to compose himself. His eyes were light, it kept Percy from stiffening at the question.

"I took a couple of acorns from the tree," he admitted. "I thought I'd plant them at Hogwarts somewhere by the edge of the forest. I want to sit with the tree there, too. And I promised the tree I'd help her prosper."

It sounded so strange to say it aloud like that, but Bill only nodded.

"It's not a bad idea to keep a magical tree from home close to where you live most of the year," he agreed. "Just make sure you don't put too much magic into the seeds. If they die you don't want to accidentally drain yourself."

Percy blinked up at Bill.

"You can put magic directly into living things?" He asked blankly.

Bill started, then grinned at him.

"And non living things, too," he agreed, winking. "Good to know I still have something to teach my little brother."

Bill held out his hand,

"Show me the acorn?"

Percy scrambled through his pockets. Bill seemed to know more about rituals than he'd let on, and Percy wondered how he had learned. Sure, his grades were outstanding, but it was knowledge that wasn't generally taught at the castle. He must have done his own research somehow.

Percy passed him the acorn, and Bill took his wand out of his housecoat, explaining:

"It's just like when you go to cast a spell. You pull on your magic, but instead of directing it into a spell, you let it pour out through the wand, into the object..." he concentrated, and a stream of blue magic seeped out of his wand and into the acorn, lighting it from within for a moment. 

He smiled at Percy, passing the acorn back to him.

"My gift to you, little brother," he said, setting the acorn on Percy's palm. "That one's for free. Now you try."

Percy's eyes widened as he felt the weight of the magic Bill had so casually poured into the acorn. He would be lucky to have that much magic in a week. And Bill had made it look like nothing!

He concentrated, frowning as he pulled out his own wand, pulling on the light that was buried deep within himself. 

A tiny puff of pink floated into the acorn, and Percy set his wand down on the table, sinking back into his chair in exhaustion. 

"Wow, Percy," Bill said, picking up the acorn and studying it, "you're a natural."

Percy lifted his head from the chair back and rolled his eyes at his brother. 

"Thanks Bill," he said dryly.

But Bill frowned at him.

"I'm being serious," he said, tapping his finger against the acorn thoughtfully. "You got it on your first try. That's pretty remarkable for someone just done their first year. It took me ages to be able to do it. Of course, I had to learn from a book, which is never as good."

"How long have you been practicing?" Percy asked curiously, side eyeing his brother. Bill was talking about magic that was perilously close to Dark, and never had a hint of this interest been obvious to anyone in the family, or Molly would have surely chewed his ear off about it. Bill waved his hand dismissively,

"Oh I ran across it in some warding manuals in fifth year. I was trying to figure out a way to store magical energy for Mom, so that she could leave the house for longer than a day." Bill wrinkled his nose regretfully, "But I never got that far. It's complicated stuff."

Percy nodded, impressed. Even to get as far as he had was a mark of Bill's talent.

"Is there anything else you're thinking of?" Bill asked him seriously, throwing an arm around Percy's shoulders. "This is dangerous stuff and I don't want to have to tell Mom you accidentally blew your head off because I didn’t make sure you were safe."

Percy chewed his lip, considering the question. He had seen visions when meditating of A'Jiao practicing Kung fu. But he didn't know what that had to do with anything else other than what he did already.

But the ghost was suddenly standing by his elbow:

'The sword, Percy,' she breathed.

Percy clapped a hand to his forehead.

"Of course," he muttered.

"Care to share with the class, Percy?" Bill teased him, nudging him.

"The sword A'Jiao gave me. It's perfect for holding a charge, I'm certain of it."

A'Jiao's sword had seemed almost alive with magic; Percy had dismissed the thought as fanciful before, but now he wondered at the way it seemed to cackle with energy when she held it.

They slunk into Percy's room, Percy scrabbling under the bed in the dark for the sword case.

"Percy?" Charlie muttered, tossing in his bed, "you're making a racket."

Charlie turned on the light next to his bed, an old oil lamp, and blundered his way to sitting up, wiping his eyes.

"Bill?" He muttered, "what are you doing here?"

Bill waved a privacy charm in place, grinning.

"Educational endeavours," he said, sitting next to Charlie on his bed and clapping him on the shoulder. 

"Couldn't it wait till morning?" Charlie groaned as Percy scrambled out from under his bed, sword case triumphantly in his hands.

Bill shrugged.

"Probably," he said, "but this isn't exactly a parentally approved activity."

Percy realized that Bill's eyes were shining with curiosity as he joined his brothers on Charlie's bed, carefully unsheathing the sword. 

The sword was elegant in its simplicity, a curved dao blade only sharp on one side. The hilt was black and carved from a dark wood Percy thought might be ebony. It had no ornamentation but for several Chinese characters on the blades.

Percy ran his finger over the engraving, noticing the warmth that spread through his fingertips and up his arm as he did so

"Protection, safety, power" he whispered to them, as A'Jiao had once explained to him.

"We think it can be used as a reservoir of magical power," Bill explained in a hushed tone to Charlie.

"May I?" He asked Percy, raising his wand.

Percy nodded, passing him the sword on its scabbard. 

Bill unsheathed it, and tapped the character that Percy had read as power.

"Here goes nothing," he whispered, and his light blue magic streamed into the sword. The light swirled for a moment in the rune, before sinking into the blade.

Bill noticeably swallowed.

"Like it was made for it," he whispered, sheathing the sword again.

"Try doing some magic with it, Perce," Charlie urged, and passed the blade back to Percy.

Percy grinned in spite of himself, standing well away from the bed and away from his brothers to hold the sword in his confident forward stance, pleased to note how his brothers' eyes widened. He tried waving his wand in a familiar pattern: "Lumos!" He called, and was gratified to see a steady torch like light rather than his usual flickering flame.

Charlie whistled appreciatively.

"Too bad you can't do your tests with the sword Percy," he said, after Percy had terminated the spell and sheathed the sword again. He came to stand next to Percy, grabbing his wand from the dresser.

Percy gamely unsheathed the sword just enough for him to touch his wand to the characters. Charlie chose the rune for protection. Percy was surprised to note it took quite a bit of explaining from Bill and three or four tries until he was able to pull on a stream of fiery red magic to pour into the rune.

He shook his head as he was done, sinking into the bed next to Percy.

"Wouldn't want to do that every day!" He commented lightly. 

Bill frowned.

"Don't over do it," he warned, "you did that for much longer than I did. You can easily drain yourself like that."

Percy sat down on his own bed, unsheathing his sword again and setting it across his knees.

He thought of the heavy streams of light Bill and Charlie had managed and frowned in concentration. 

He took a deep breath, pointed his wand at the character for safety, and pulled on his magic as hard as he could. He only had a stream of light sparks, and he wanted to stop, but he gritted his teeth even as his arm started to shake and kept going. 

His vision blurred around the edges and everything in his body went loose. Blackness swallowed him....

When he came to, Bill and Charlie were standing over him.

Charlie had grabbed the sword from where it sat on his lap, and Bill held his wand. 

"Told ya not to over do it," Bill smirked.

"Gah," Percy groaned, pushing himself further into bed.

"Let this be a lesson, little brother," Bill tutted, setting Percy's wand next to him on the bedside table, "You can't mess around with this stuff."

Charlie was putting the sword back in its case, settling it back under Percy's bed.

"Get some sleep," Bill said more gently, pulling Percy's covers up for him. "You'll feel better in the morning."

~☆~

Percy did not feel better in the morning. His head hurt, his muscles were sore, and even just picking up his wand sent a shudder of disgust through his body. He dropped it, glad that school was a couple of days away yet.

Charlie was also a bit laggy, but much more cheerful than Percy. He shrugged when Percy moaned when he opened the curtains in the morning, telling Percy it wasn't that bad; just like an after exam magical fatigue. Percy groaned and pulled the pillow over his eyes, refusing to answer to this overly cheerful analysis. He already knew his power was weak, but seeing the proof in front of him so starkly was unsettling.

By the time they were ready for school, he felt good enough to hold his wand, but otherwise, Percy was still exhausted.

So when he finally ended up in the common room after the firsties had been sorted, and Snape made his annual introductions to the newcomers, Percy very nearly lost his temper when one of the upper year boys began to play politics with him.

"Heard your Dad got the ministry job in the Muggle liaison office," Neil Shafiq said, coming to sit on the armrest of the sofa Percy had taken. Marcus had already left the common room to get his things sorted in their new room, and Miles was looking nervous as Barclay Radcliffe came to sit down on the other side of the couch, sitting too close to Percy.

"My older brother was hoping for that job," Barclay said coolly. "What do you think, Percy, do you think your Dad deserves it more because he's a Pureblood?"

The entire common room was suddenly so quiet they could have heard a House Elf's footsteps. Heads swiveled to watch the interaction.

"My Dad deserves it just as much as any other wizard, " Percy answered stiffly, glaring at Radcliffe, "He's worked hard his whole life."

Barclay leaned closer to Percy, grinning like a shark that smelled blood.

Percy knew not to react; he did. Slytherin upper years felt they had the right to lean on the younger ones, push their buttons. He knew he wasn't supposed to take it seriously, that it was a test of sorts. But he felt the blood rush to his face, his ears reddening.

'Careful,' the ghost whispered in Percy's ear. 'He's rich, Percy, and used to getting his way. Look at his shoes, his book bag. Keep your cool.'

Percy was surprised by this comment enough that it startled him into some semblance of calm. He wasn't used to thinking of Muggle borns as rich. But he looked closer at Barclay's shoes, shiny black leather cut with patterns, his book bag; also leather, with large steel buckles in a stylised shape Percy didn't recognize and wondered if the ghost was right, if he really was rich.

"I've met him you know," Barclay said, leaning so close Percy could smell his cologne, a sharp scent of chemicals and pine trees, "at that little shop he used to work at. Sells second hand goods, Muggle and Wizard, doesn't it, Neil?"

"Says it right on the door," Shafiq agreed. "My cousin runs it. She's a HalfBlood, did you know that, Percy?"

Percy shook his head stiffly.

"I don't much care to keep track of blood status," he said, still flushed.

"Ahhh, but you know who does care about blood status, Weasley?"

"No," Percy answered shortly. "But I'm guessing you're about to tell me."

"Has a temper, this one has," Shafiq commented. "Wouldn't you say so, Bletchley?"

Miles gaped at Neil like a fish, his mouth gulping open and shut, his eyes bulbous at their attention.

"Percy's all right," he said faintly. "I don't know what his Dad's job has to do with anything."

"Ahh, young Miles," Barclay said, a bitter note entering his voice, "I'll tell you what it has to do with. You see, back when I was your and Percy’s age, I had a dream. I thought I could bring the Muggle ingenuity with technology and research to the wizarding world. I'd revolutionize everything, bring them all the wonders of colour television. Or failing that," Barclay rolled his eyes, "at least the bound notebook and closed fountain pen."

"A noble dream," Neil agreed, nodding. "The end of ink stains and scrolls."

"I'd roll in the dough, or so I thought." Barclay continued, and this time the bitter edge to his voice was obvious. "But that's not how things work around here, is it, Percy?" He asked. "We lowly Muggleborns don't get those kinds of opportunities, do we? Even if we have the means to make them come true, we get buried in red tape and bureaucracy."

"I still don't see what this has to do with my Dad," Percy grumbled, shifting uncomfortably. 

"And here I have been hearing about how bright you were," Barclay said, nudging him, "how enlightened your family is. Not like those other bad old Purebloods at all."

"You're going to have to spell it out for me," Percy said stiffly, "because I still don't see how this has anything to do with me."

"Very well, Percy," Barclay purred, his eyelids lowering, "since you insist, why don't I tell you about the time I went into the shop your Dad works at. I heard through the grapevine--" he jerked a thumb towards Shafiq, who nodded

"A.k.a. me," Shafiq agreed,

"That Arthur Weasley had a job interview at the ministry. A sub department of the muggle liaison, at the misuse of muggle artifacts office. Since my brother was interviewing for the same position, I thought I'd check out the competition. Only fair, don't you think, Weasley?"

"Sure," Percy shrugged, crossing his arms, "whatever."

"Your Dad," Barclay continued, a bitter smile growing on his face, "tried to sell me several walkie talkies, telling me they were 'phelotones'. I walked away with a smile on my face, thinking my brother had the job in the bag. He at least, knows what a telephone is and how it works."

"Right," Percy said uncomfortably, "well I'm sorry your brother didn't get the job, but I still don't see how this makes me a bigot."

"Perhaps not a bigot," Shafiq acknowledged, looking over Percy's head from where he was hovering and locking eyes with Radcliffe, "more like a hypocrite, wouldn't you say, Barclay?"

Percy gritted his teeth, but the ghost was at his back, lying a cold hand on his neck.

'Easy,' she whispered, 'he's trying to wind you up.'

"I think hypocrite says it quite well," Barclay agreed. "After all, there are so few jobs in the ministry that are really just obviously earmarked for the muggle borns. The Ministry needs our knowledge of our world to be able to function without performing one too many obliviations on some unfortunate Muggle. If this were a just world, that entire office would be filled with Muggle borns."

"Or at least Half Bloods," Shafiq cut in.

"Of course," Barclay said, waving his hand and ignoring Shafiq's interruption, and now Percy could hear the anger in his voice, the steel he had been hiding underneath the silky smile and smooth attitude, "we all know it's not a just world, don't we, Percy? Why your father is famous for his defense of us poor, helpless Muggle borns, isn't he?"

Percy shivered.

He couldn't help it. 

The things Barclay was saying-- they were cutting a bit too close to the bone.

"So imagine my surprise when my brother and I find that not only has he been rejected for the position, despite his time working as a clerk for a well respected Wizengamot House--"

"My father, again," Shafiq filled in.

"But every other half blood or Muggle born who interviewed also didn't get the job. Instead it went to one Pureblooded champion of Muggle rights, one Arthur Weasley."

Barclay's grip on Percy's shoulder tightened.

"So tell me, Percy, is your Dad that clueless or is he just a garden variety hypocrite?"

Percy's mouth was dry.

Every single eye in Slytherin was on him, studying his reaction.

"You'll have to ask him," he said coolly, "I'm not my father."

"Hmmm," Barclay said, pulling his arm away from Percy, a calculating look in his eye as he studied him. "Perhaps you're not, at that."

Shafiq slid off the arm rest, stretching lazily.

"Good chat, Percy," he said, and just like that, the moment was over, the heat in the room gone. Barclay stood up as well, brushing his pants off. 

The tension in the common room drained, the background chatter picked up again.

Percy felt a funny buzz of butterflies in his stomach and knew somehow that he had at least passed whatever test it was that Shafiq and Radcliffe had set up.

"What will he do now?" 

They all twisted to the strained voice: Miles Bletchley, leaning forward in his green plush velvet chair, his glasses shining bright in the fire light.

"Hmmm?" Barclay asked.

"Your brother," Miles said. "What will he do now that he realizes he won't ever get hired by the ministry? Will he keep working for Shafiq?"

"Oh, no," Barclay answered, frowning at Miles. "My brother has no intention of continuing working as a glorified secretary, no matter how noble the house. No offense, Neil," he added, nodding at the shorter dark haired boy, who only shrugged.

"None taken," he agreed.

"No, me and my brother have both decided to go to college. Take over the family business importing electronics," he shrugged. "Go to business school. My Dad's gonna be delighted when we tell him."

"You're leaving the wizarding world?" Miles gasped, his eyes widening.

"Not leaving it," the tall blond shrugged, "but certainly not wasting my time trying to make a mark here when I've got other perfectly good options. One piece of advice, Miles?"

Miles was sitting shrunken in his seat, his blotchy face whitening at Barclay's words.

"Get your GSCE," he said coolly, "you don't want to throw out your opportunities and regret it later."

"But how am I supposed to do that when I'm already busy with wizarding schooling?" Miles voice had gone from high to shrill.

Barclay shrugged.

"Use history class to do other work. Take Muggle Studies and divination for an easy grade, but study whatever your weakest points are during that time. From there, Miles, it's on you," he said, and he and Shafiq swept away towards the sixth year rooms.

Percy stood up from where he was sitting, sweaty in the couch, and grabbed Miles by the arm, dragging him up.

"Come on, Miles," he said, "let's go back to our room and talk about it there."

Miles nodded gratefully, staring at Percy with wide rabbit eyes.

Percy wanted to tell him not to worry about what Barclay had said, but stopped his tongue. Perhaps false reassurances were dangerous: he had visions of Muggle borns like Miles having their wands broken and their possessions stolen. He didn't want to give Miles false hope.

~☆~

'What do you think about justice?' The ghost asked him one day in early October. 

They were sitting in Percy's favourite spot by the Black lake, watching some fifth year Ravenclaws throw stones back and forth with the giant squid. The leaves were starting to fall and change to brilliant yellows and reds, and Percy was feeling tired and satisfied. 

He avoided pouring magic into his sword during the school week, not wanting to test his already faltering magic. But Fridays and Saturdays he added magic to both his sword and the earrings Demelza had given him. It had been Bill's suggestion to use the earrings as a repository; he had been researching in the forbidden section and found a book on warding that explained high quality cut gemstones could hold magic. It made Percy wonder how many Purebloods kept a charge in their family rings, if what he had perceived as arrogance, wearing showy jewelry, was also a form of self-defense.

Percy shrugged at the ghost's question.

"What kind of justice?" He asked.

'Do you think the Wizengamot is good at dispensing justice?'

The ghost was sitting cross legged in the tall grass, studying the dried flowers and seed pods intently as she talked with him, running her hands over it.

Percy snorted.

"Hardly," he said, thinking of the bribery that was embedded in the system so deeply one would be forgiven for thinking steep fines as a diversion from jail were official policy.

'Do you think that everyone deserves a fair trial, no matter how guilty they may seem?' The ghost pressed on, lunging suddenly at a movement in the grass and snatching a long, stick like bug with gossamer wings.

Percy leaned closer to the creature, impressed as for one moment it was captured in the ghost's luminous hands. The creature transformed into a dark skinned fairy, a creature with short deer like antlers, wearing dried leaves for a dress. Then she bit the ghost's hands and flew away, transforming back to a winged stick bug.

Percy whistled appreciatively. He had never seen an ebony wood fairy before. They were very rare.

The ghost turned to look at him, a dreamy smile on her face. Percy realized with a start that she didn't often seem happy, and vowed to spend more time meditating in nature with her.

'Percy,' the ghost prompted him, 'trials?'

"Oh," Percy shrugged, "of course."

'And if someone hadn't received a fair trial,' the ghost persisted, turning back to her inspection of the wildflowers and grasses, 'would you think that they ought to be granted one?'

Percy watched the ghost's hands as she ran them along the wildflowers, the way the flowers penetrated through her semi transparent hands, and wondered what the ghost was driving at.

"Sure," he said, shrugging, "but I don't know what I could do about it. I'm just a kid. I mean, everybody knows that there's a lot of miscarriage of justice. There's only so much Dumbledore can do to fix that. And if even Dumbledore struggles to change the justice system, I don't know what I'm supposed to do about it."

The Weasleys themselves were still paying off the reparation fines the Wizengamot had imposed on Arthur. Percy really didn't know if he had really been considered innocent, or merely if his crimes while imperiused had been minor enough that they didn't want to send a Pureblood to rot in Azkaban, let alone one with six children and a seventh on the way. Everyone knew the Wizengamot was hopelessly corrupt, that likely innocents were suffering in Azkaban, but the corruption ran so deep that it was impossible to imagine changing it.

'What if it were family?' The ghost asked, her hands still running over the grass, 'would you do everything you could to intervene?'

Percy shrugged, watching as the giant squid teased a long arm towards a laughing and dodging teen.

"Sure," he said, "who wouldn't?"

The ghost turned then to look at him, her silver eyes locking onto his.

'Percy,' she said, 'you need to stop the unlawful imprisonment of Sirius Black.'

~☆~

The ghost, of course, had set Percy up with an impossible task. He found out several things from looking through library books and old Daily Prophet articles: Sirius Black had been sent to Azkaban without a trial, on the justification that he had confessed to the crime and been found at the murder scene by multiple witnesses. Editorials screamed that at last his Pureblood status wouldn't protect him from justice.

But Percy found that no one, not even his grandparents living in India, had bothered to launch an appeal for him.

Percy despaired over this information. His own family was still paying off debt from year's past over their own father's legal fees. What hope could one small second year boy offer a most likely extremely Dark wizard?


	8. Slytherin

"We don't know exactly what he's done!" Marcus Flint's voice was pinched with anxiety.

Percy, floating in a magnificent calm, wondered for a brief moment why his friend and roommate was so upset, but the thought quickly drifted away in the sea of warmth that lapped up against his consciousness.

He knew he was lying on his bed in the Slytherin dungeons, staring at the curtained ceiling of his four canopy bed, a silly smile on his face, but his mind was drifting in a hazy sea. Distantly, he was aware of Terence and Miles hovering, pale faced, by the end of his bed. Marcus was running into the room, but it seemed to Percy as though time had slowed down, and he watched Marcus run as if he were wading through deep water, his actions slowed , but his voice was much too loud and quick as he spoke to Professor Snape.

Snape was kneeling down over Percy's bedside, lifting Percy's half closed eyelids, holding his wrist in a firm grip, counting his pulse against a timepiece that was strapped to his wrist.

"We think he's been experimenting with magic!" Terence Higgs blurted out, as Percy wondered distantly why Snape's black eyes were pinched in a concerned shape.

Snape had gripped onto both sides of Percy's face, his dark eyes boring into Percy's. Percy felt a force drive through his soupy calm, pushing his mind towards a sense of order with the inexorable power of a freight train, and no, he didn't want to have the think, he didn't want to follow that screwdriver drilling into his brain, focusing him on what he had been doing before the calm took over...

He was remembering anyway, the pure physical sensations of pain as he poured himself into a spell to engrave the rune for power on the emerald earrings from Demelza. Because what if his Visions came true? And Hogwart's was attacked? He had to have enough power to fight them, those black robed men he had nightmares of.... and oh, now why was that drilling pressure in his head gone...

"Foolish boy," Snape's tone, tense. "You idiotic, brilliant boy."

And he was floating for real now, Snape levitating him up the halls, and Percy didn't know that hidden passage was there, and was he in the hospital wing?

Percy was lying on a bed now, and a mediwitch seemed to be brushing by him, and he hated mediwitches

"Magical exhaustion" a deep voice said, and oh was that a potion being given to him?

Percy coughed as his ears steemed and his head cleared.

Snape was sitting over his bed, studying him with intense eyes.

"Sleep now, child," he said, and Percy thought he heard a note of tenderness in the gruff man's voice. "You've drained yourself of magic. It will replenish!" Snape reassured him as panic reasserted itself in Percy's mind. "But you are forbidden from touching your wand for two weeks while it does so."

Two weeks! Percy opened his mouth to protest, but only a half cough escaped. Fatigue pulled him down, and while he wanted to disagree, he found he couldn't be bothered.

"You will sleep for the next 36 hours under Poppy's supervision. When you awake, you and I will be having a conversation before anything else."

~☆~

Percy awoke to a figure sitting on the foot of his bed.

His sleep addled brain at first thought it was Aunt Muriel, but the figure shifted, and he realized it was Snape.

Percy sat up slowly, blinking. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat immediately protested.

"Wait, child!" 

Madam Pomfrey was hovering over his bedside, and she passed him a glass of water mixed with a lemon smelling potion, which he eagerly drank. It soothed his throat, and he breathed out a lemony steam as he opened his mouth to speak.

"How do you feel?" She asked him, casting diagnostic charms that left a read out flickering above his head. "You've been in an induced sleep since Tuesday evening to allow your magic to recover. It's Thursday morning now."

Percy tucked his hair behind his ears. He felt grubby and his stomach grumbled, but the tired ache that had settled deep into his bones was gone.

"Better," he said truthfully, and Madam Pomfrey sniffed, waving away the diagnostic.

"Good," she said brusquely. "You're well enough to get to classes, but Professor Snape will be holding onto your wand for the next two weeks, until you've fully recovered. Your head of House told me he'd personally speak to you further about the dangers of experimenting with strange magic! He insisted he was to be here the moment you awoke. I hope that underlines the gravity of this situation, Mr. Weasley," 

Percy looked up solemnly at Madam Pomfrey's stern expression and squirmed in his bed.

"Yes'm" he agreed quickly.

"Good," she said, waving a bed side table to shuffle over to him, laden with several potions. "As soon as you're finished talking with him, and have finished these potions, you're free to leave to your dormitory and to prepare for your day."

She turned towards Snape

"Professor Snape," she nodded to him, and turned on her heel to leave the two alone together.

Snape nodded to the Potions sitting by his bedside as Percy rubbed his sleep encrusted eyes. The ghost hovered behind Snape, watching the tableau with concerned eyes.

"Drink them," he said, "they'll help."

Percy nodded, doffing the green bottle first. It tasted vaguely of licorice and mint, and Percy grimaced at the bitter taste.

"It will help your energy levels slowly recover over the next several days," Snape explained as Percy turned towards him.

"And this one, sir?" Percy asked, tapping the remaining bottle. It was a large vial, and it was glowing with faint purple smoke.

"For mental clarity," Snape answered. "You drained yourself badly. And with the sleep you've been induced to, you need it more than ever."

Percy swallowed that potion down too, startled at the bubbling sensation that flowed down his throat.

Snape was studying him, his expression veiled.

"I know you struggle with night terrors," the dark man said slowly, his fingers caressing a worn book on his lap. "I thought this might help you."

He passed the thick tome to Percy with near reluctance, eyeing it as Percy studied it with interest.

 _Occulumency for the Beginner_ it was entitled.

Percy ran his finger across the gold lettering with wonder. He had no doubt it was a book of great worth.

The ghost, leaning over Snape's shoulder to peer at the book, half stifled a gasp.

"I've enchanted it so that other prying eyes will think you're reading a Quidditch book," Snape continued. "There's no need for anyone to know about your nightmares I don't think."

Percy nodded emphatically. It was bad enough that his roommates knew.

"Percy," Snape said, and this time Percy was shocked to notice his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed some unnamed emotion, "I don't think I need to tell you this art has its... detractors. I hope you will have the good sense not to tell anyone who gave you this book."

"Swear it to him," the ghost whispered, looking almost blanched, if such a thing could be said of a ghost, "be firm Percy, or he may erase your entire memory of this event."

"I will protect that information with my life, sir," Percy said seriously, looking Snape in his dark eyes.

Percy sensed again a shiver of a touch against his mind, a strange sensation like a breeze inside his skull.

Snape's eyes pinched at Percy's words.

He nodded grimly, settling back in his chair.

"I've arranged for you to take off transfiguration and defense until your wand is returned to you," Snape explained. "I suggest you use the time to study, because your professors will be testing your knowledge when you can get your wand back."

Percy gasped.

"Yes, sir!" He agreed nervously, his mind spinning as he considered the multitude of information he would have to take in.

"Good," Snape smiled, pulling up from his seat. "I will also be modifying the Potions you make, so that you can work on ones which don't use magic. You will remain in class, although you will be working with Chelsea Belby on your potion."

Percy nodded, his eyes widened. Chelsea was one of the Heirs to the Belby potion dynasty, and everyone knew she was a genius with Potions. Snape must really believe he needed help to arrange her to be his workmate. 

"Yes sir!" He agreed, straightening in his bed. "I won't let you down, sir!"

Was that a ghost of a smile slinking across Snape's lips?

"Study hard and all will be well," Snape assured him, standing from his chair beside Percy's bed. "And don't worry about your classmates questioning why you're working on other potions. I've shielded your work station so that others only see what they expect to see. Belby knows to be subtle about it as well."

"There's no need to draw unnecessary attention to my situation," Percy agreed, relief flowing through his body. He didn't want anyone to guess his accident had been due to practicing Dark Magic. He smiled at his Head of House. He had expected this conversation to have gone much differently. "Thank you so much sir, for all you're doing." 

~☆~

_Occulumency is the art of protecting your mind from mental attacks. When perfected, the practitioner is even able to undergo questioning by Veritaserum and withhold the truth. This powerful art was first practiced in the Ancient Kingdom of Persia..._

"My little brother, reading a Quidditch book!" Charlie slapped the table next to Percy, who startled, about to protest he was not reading about Quidditch. Suddenly remembering the charm, he shifted nervously instead, closing the book. 

"Trying to follow in your big brother's footsteps and become captain one day?" Charlie asked him, jostling him teasingly as he sat down on the bench next to Percy in the Great Hall. The Great Hall was its usual bustle of activity although the Gryffindor table was especially boisterous tonight. The House Elves had been forced to get creative with the juices after a swarm of hinkypunks had set fore to the entire apple orchard in a fot of pique. The Gryffindors were taking various bets on what the results of the Elves experimentation would be.

Percy sat to eat every supper with his brothers at the Gryffindor table. Other than feast days and other times of the year, most siblings separated by House ended up spending at least several meals together at each other's tables. Occasionally his brothers would head over to the Slytherin table to sit with him, but since the two older brothers had made more connections in Gryffindor than Percy had yet in Slytherin, they tended to sit with the Gryffs.

Percy rolled his eyes at Charlie. 

"I don't have to play to enjoy it," he protested mildly. "Besides, with all the catch up I'm going to have to do, I don't have the time."

"Ooh, I've been meaning to look at that book!" Oliver Wood crowded next to Percy on the bench, snatching the book from underneath his fingers and flipping through it.

"Hey!" Percy objected while Charlie raised a disapproving eyebrow. Oliver ducked his head under their scrutiny,passing the book back to Percy.

"Er, sorry," he said, smiling broadly at Percy and rubbing his hair sheepishly. "That was rude of me, wasn't it."

Percy shrugged, slipping the book back into his shoulder bag.

"No problem," he said, putting his bag beneath his feet and holding it between his ankles tightly. He had noticed that anyone who touched the book felt compelled to bring it back to him immediately, but even so, he felt safer with it hidden in his bag. 

"You two must be brothers," Oliver said, sliding away and looking back and forth at them. "He better not be as good as you at Quidditch," the boy said suspiciously to Charlie, poking at Percy's tie and glaring at him, "he's in Slytherin. And when I'm captain of the Gryffindor team, I want us to win!"

Percy pulled back uncomfortably from the contact, studying the boy's fine features and dark skin for a sense of guile. But he seemed totally oblivious to Percy's discomfort, nearly bouncing with enthusiasm in his seat at the thought of one day being Quidditch captain.

Charlie rolled his eyes.

"Hold on to your dreams, kid," he said, knuckling Oliver's head teasingly. "But remember you're only the substitute Keeper for now. Lots more training before you can be Captain"

"Who's not the Captain?" A vibrant voice asked behind them, "budge over, kid," they added and Percy moved over.

Oliver seemed glued to his seat, staring up at the slight girl with mussy dark hair and piercings all up her left ear.

"You're the Hufflepuff captain!" He gasped.

He looked back and forth between Charlie and the girl.

"You're conspiring with the enemy!" He said, voice raising.

The girl blinked at Oliver and then burst out laughing.

"Oil," she grinned, leaning into Charlie and elbowing him in the ribs, "this one is gonna be fun to train."

She slid into the bench next to Percy, taking in his red hair and freckles.

"You must be Percy," she said.

Percy stuck out his hand automatically. 

"Percy Weasley," he said politely, "pleased to meet you."

"See?" The girl raised her eyebrows at Oliver, "that's the way you're supposed to introduce yourself to someone."

She turned back to Percy and bowed elegantly from the waist, waving her arms extravagantly. 

"Dora Tonks," she said, but ruined the bow by getting her sleeve stuck in a bowl of pudding.

"Oh drat," she muttered, and proceeded to smeer the pudding worse on her sleeve trying to rub it off.

"Evanesco," Charlie said, in an amused tone, waving his wand to vanish the pudding. "Come on, mate, you know that charm by now."

"Oil!" Dora protested, swatting him playfully in the shoulder, "you're lucky you didn't vanish my shirt!"

"Not gonna happen," Charlie answered, twitching away "who does that anyway?"

Dora immediately flushed bright red, all the way to her ears. The boys glanced at each other in amusement. Oliver was trying and failing to contain a face splitting smile.

"Well Tonks," Charlie grinned, "you'll have to tell us that story sometime."

"Nothing like that has ever happened to me," she muttered, suddenly very interested in studying her wand.

Meanwhile, the wheels were turning in Percy's mind.

"Wait," he blurted out, "this is Tonks?" He stared at Dora Tonks in wonder. "Our cousin, Tonks?"

Tonks grinned.

"One and the same," she agreed, posing her hand underneath her chin and fluttering her eyelashes theatrically.

"But I thought--" he cut himself off, shooting a look at Charlie.

He had been fairly certain Charlie had referred to a boy in his class named Tonks, who was a distant cousin and shared an unhealthy fascination with all creatures with pointy teeth and claws that could rip a magician to shreds.

"That she was a boy?" Charlie finished the thought, amused.

"I, ugh," Percy stuttered, not wanting to offend Dora.

But Dora was grinning.

"Let me clear up that confusion," she said, and furrowed her brows as if a bee had landed on her nose and she was trying very hard not to let it sting her.

Her chin lengthened and her jaw widened. Her body grew several inches in size and her shoulders broadened.

Percy found himself blinking at a very handsome teenager.

"Oh!" He gasped, "you're a Metamorphmagus!" 

Tonks nodded, tapping his nose.

"Got it one, Percy," he agreed.

"But then-" Percy stopped, biting his lip, "are you a boy or a girl?"

The teen shrugged.

"Both, really," he answered. "That's a strange question for a person like me. I've been switching in and out of my boy form ever since I was a baby. Who even knows whether or not I was doing the same in the womb? Anyway, my friends just call me Tonks for that reason. And I don't really care which pronouns people use."

"But I've been using he because of Mom," Charlie cut in. "Tonks has invited me over this Christmas for a couple of days." He wrinkled his nose, "I want Mom to let me go, and I'm afraid she won't if she thinks Tonks is a girl."

"But she's your cousin," Oliver objected, looking between Tonks and Charlie with a dazed look on his face, "wouldn't your Mom know she's a girl?"

"Distant cousin," Tonks shrugged, grabbing a glass of pumpkin juice and swirling it suspiciously. "And Pureblood cousins have a bad habit of getting married. That almost makes it worse."

"Gross," Oliver opined.

"Don't let the other Purebloods hear you say that," Percy warned him, "They get touchy about those things."

Tonks snorted.

"That's one way of putting it," he agreed. "My great Uncle was betrothed to his own cousin from the time he was 11 years old! Thank God Mom met Dad and got us out of that crazy family."

Percy shrugged.

"Well no problem, Charlie," he agreed, "as long as Tonks's parents don't accidentally give the game away."

"They won't," Tonks said confidently, "even the professors call me Mr. Tonks when I'm in this body."

She grinned at Oliver, who was gaping in unabashed amazement at the bright purple Tonk's hair was turning as she spoke.

"What do you think, kid, wanna join us for some two on two?"

Oliver perked up, his entire face brightening in a huge grin.

"Of course!" He said, "we can do that?"

"Open pitch for rec flying every Wednesday evening," Tonks agreed.

Charlie was holding his head in his hands in mock despair.

"There goes my Wednesday evenings," he groaned, "you realize now that Woods knows this, he's never going to let me have another moment of peace on a Wednesday again?"

Oliver had already scrambled off of the bench, vibrating with excitement.

"Let's go!" He said, pulling Percy's arm.

"Wait, what?" Percy spluttered, "I'm not exactly a Quidditch genius. And I've got homework to do!"

"Like you won't get straight O's anyway," Charlie grinned, standing from the bench and folding his arms. "Besides, a little fresh air would do you some good. Keep your mind healthy and your brain in top shape."

This was Aunt Muriel's favourite argument for when she felt the kids were getting too wrangy working on their homeschooling. Percy rather thought she just wanted them out of her hair for an hour or so.

"I don't even have a broom!" Percy protested even as Oliver dragged him towards the doors of the Great Hall, Tonks and Charlie teasing each other about their House's chance of winning the cup as they went.

"You can take Bill's," Charlie cut in.

Percy craned his neck to look around the hall, a bit desperate for a last chance of getting out of the game.

"Where is Bill, anyway?" He asked, scanning up and down the Gryffindor table, only to see a familiar red head hunched over in intent conversation with a pretty girl with long dark hair and blue eyes.

Charlie followed his gaze and snorted.

"Busy barking up the wrong tree," he said, rolling his eyes. "He's gone mad for Emily Tyler."

"Who is definitely batting for the other team," Tonks said with a smug grin.

"What team?" Oliver asked, as Percy trailed along hopelessly in their wake, out the huge entrance doors and down the hill towards the Quidditch pitch, "there are other sports here?"

"Aww, young Woods," Tonks laughed, throwing his arm around Oliver's shoulder. "How innocent you are now. We'll tell you when you're older."

Oliver shrugged him off, rolling his eyes.

"All right, all right, I get it already!" He laughed.

They arrived at the broomshed, where students kept their brooms locked in separate lockers that were charmed to only open to the touch of the owner. Percy held his breath as Charlie touched his-- but both brooms came falling out.

Charlie passed Percy Bill's broom with a grin.

"Come on Percy," he said, "there's no excuse now."

Percy sighed in despair, and took the broom from him, a glum expression on his face.

"Cheer up, mate," Tonks laughed, "it's a gorgeous day for a flight."

"You'll forget all about school once you're in the air," Charlie promised him, mounting his broom and kicking off. 

And to Percy's surprise, he found flying gave him a break from his worries and visions. It felt new and fresh to him in a way that so few things truly did, and he soon found himself soaring next to Charlie in pure unadulterated joy. Before he knew it, he was spending every Wednesday evening flying with Tonks, Charlie and Oliver, a grin splitting his face all the while.

~☆~

Snape had put off his tests with D.A.D.A. and transfiguration until the week before Christmas holidays. By that point, Percy was near tears with the stress of it. Each test was more like a full out exam, including written and practical work that McGonagall oversaw with a bemused expression on her face as Percy frowned with grim determination, hunched over his parchment.

By the time he was packing his bags and headed to the Great Hall to catch the carriages to the train station, he was thoroughly disheartened. 

“Those were hard,” he groaned to Bill, flopping in exhaustion next to him in the train. Charlie and Tonks were sitting across from them, playing a noisy game of exploding snap and laughing about their upcoming holidays. 

Bill only smiled that typical carefree grin and ruffled Percy’s hair. 

“I’m sure you did great, Perce,” he said. “McGonagall hardly ever fails a second year, she just gives them extra tutoring if they need it.”

Percy buried his face in his hands and moaned at the thought of yet more revision for transfiguration. It would be agony to wait until after the holidays to find out his results. But Snape had been insistent on holding him back from his DADA and transfiguration classes until he felt certain Percy had fully recovered, and so Percy had not done his tests until recently. 

Percy knew he had made his own situation worse, stretching out his recovery by pouring magic back into his sword and his earrings as soon as his wand had been returned to him. But haunted by nightmares and worries as he was, he simply couldn’t resist the temptation. Snape checked his magical core once a week, frowned, shook his head, and told him he was still too depleted to participate in the classes with the heaviest magical draw; DADA and transfiguration. Finally, by the end of the term he had taken Percy’s wand for another two weeks, and this was what had finally allowed him to fully recover, and to take the tests that would determine whether or not he could re-join the classes. 

As for the ghost's constant insistence that he research Sirius Black, Percy found himself lackadaisical at best. At worst, he was skeptical when she brought it up, wondering if she indeed was a manifestation of some Dark magic. He would stop talking to her days at a time when she pressed him on it. The situation seemed overall an impossible task, and one fraught with peril. He did not want to be remembered as the Weasley who supported a Dark wizard. And so between his studies and his ambivalence, his progress on this task ground to a complete halt.

~☆~

When Charlie went to Tonks’s to celebrate the new year, Percy went with him. 

The jig was up with their mother, as she knew from the beginning that Tonks had been born a girl. She had assumed that Tonks had embraced a male identity, and hadn't questioned Charlie's use of pronouns. Her only request was that the two of them go together. Percy wasn't sure who was supposed to keep who in line under this arrangement, but he didn't mind. He wanted to spend time with Tonks anyway.

So on new years eve they had their trunks packed and shrunk in their cloak pockets, because they'd return with Tonks to Hogwarts after their visit. She lived in the North of England, and so they would meet their classmates at the train station in Hogsmeade and take the carriages with their classmates from there.

They waited patiently by the fire for the kisses and hugs from their younger siblings, followed by bone crushing hugs from Molly and dainty ones from Aunt Muriel and then flooed to Tonks's house.

Stepping out of the fire into a carpeted living room with white painted walls and electric lights, Percy ground to a halt, staring in shock at the dark haired woman who stood from the plush sofa to greet him.

Percy was struck dumb, the blood draining from his face. His heart hammered in his ears and chest as if every beat were striking a gong within him.

"Bellatrix!" He managed to gasp, raising his wand in a shaking hand at her.

The woman hesitated in standing, brought a hand to her face and scrubbed it across her eyes, her expression pained. She sat back on the couch, slumped.

"Percy!" Charlie hissed, his fingers digging into Percy's arm and forcing his wand down, "that's Andromeda Tonks, Dora's mother!"

Percy's heart was still galloping uselessly, his eyes wide, but he put his wand down. He didn't dare put it away, grasping it tightly in his hands, his knuckles white.

The woman's posture was totally different from his nightmares, he could admit, looking saddened in a way he couldn't imagine that cruel woman from his visions could ever look. The grief humanized her.

"That hasn't happened to me in a while," Andromeda sighed, removing her hand from her face and smiling wistfully at Percy. "But how is a boy your age so familiar with how my older sister looks?"

At the melodious voice, so different from her sister's cruel hiss, Percy was finally able to come to reason again. He put his wand away and squirmed awkwardly at Andromeda's question. With Percy's consent, Snape had put a tongue lock jinx on him to prevent him from accidentally revealing any of his nightmares contents. He and Snape agreed it would bring Percy much grief if anyone started to believe he was a Seer.

"I've seen photos," he settled on. 

Luckily for him, he was saved from answering any further questions as Dora barged into the room, her hair a vibrant orange.

"I thought I heard your voices!" She cried, launching herself at Charlie and encircling him in a wild hug. "Happy Christmas!"

She grinned at Percy, slapping him across the back and putting her arms around both his and Charlie's shoulders.

"Finally!" She said exuberantly, changing her hair tone to match theirs. "I've got some family that's sane!"

"Really, Dora," Andromeda sighed, rising off the couch gracefully, seeming to have recovered herself, "Great Aunt Melania and Uncle Arcturus would be disappointed to hear you say that."

She smiled at Percy and offered him her hand.

"Andromeda Tonks," she said, and she smiled in amusement as Percy took her hand and bowed over it, planting a kiss on the back of her hand. Now that his heart had calmed, he felt terrible about mistaking her for Bellatrix, who he knew for a fact was rotting in Azkaban. 

"Pleased to meet you," Percy said stiffly. 

Meeting her eyes now, he saw they danced with an amusement that could never fit in that other woman's face. Her hair had slightly redder tones than Bellatrix's, and her skin was a healthy tan rather than the pale ghostly sheen Percy had nightmares of. He didn't know how he had mistaken them.

"Ahh, so Slytherin is teaching you fine manners!" Andromeda laughed, "but really Percy, not everyone finds it necessary. One thing the silver and green will teach you is who likes to be buttered up and who finds it a tad much." She smiled at him fondly, ruffling his hair as she guided them up the stairs of the duplex and into a yellow painted guestroom. "The wizarding world is slowly changing, kick and scream though the Purebloods might."

Percy nodded, hit by the smell of cider brewing on the gas range stove below.

Andromeda curtsied, winking at them.

"Your quarters, my young nephews," she said formally, an impish grin on her face.

Percy laughed, taking her point.

Charlie looked around, boggling at the electric lamp on the bedside table, at the light switch on the wall Andromeda had pressed as they entered.

"Muggle houses are cool," he said reverently, wandering over to where the ghost was staring at a bubbling aquarium. Schools of tiny bright fish swam, flashing in the light.

"How are we related, anyway?" Percy asked Andromeda quietly. He had withdrawn back to where his Aunt stood by the door. Charlie was investigating the aquarium, asking Dora a series of questions she kept giggling at, correcting him and pointing to the various aquarium parts. His brother would be thoroughly distracted now, and Dora seemed happy to indulge him. Even the ghost looked intrigued.

"It's quite distant," she answered, smiling fondly at the teens, "It really is easier to just show you, if you'd like." She turned back towards Percy, smoothing his collar around his neck. He had worn his good kameez to celebrate the occasion, and he thought Andromeda softened a bit as she touched the green embroidery his Aunt had done for his Christmas present.

"Really, it is nice to have another sane member of the family in Slytherin," she said, patting his chest gently. "Would you like to come downstairs? Somewhere I've got an old family tree."

They sat at her kitchen table flipping through a photo album as Andromeda set some cider heating on the gas range stove.

She sat beside him, explaining the photos of laughing teens in the halls and grounds of Hogwarts, Andromeda in her green tie and her late husband, Ted in his blue. Percy had to agree with her; it was nice to see someone else in his family he trusted in his House colors. No matter how distant the relationship, it reassured him to see it.

She even had some photos of her sisters, which she paused over, her eyes welling with tears.

"Our mother was only 14 years old when Bellatrix was born," she said quietly, touching a photo of a grave teen holding a screaming child, "She was engaged to Cygnus to cover the shame. But the baby was raised by Cygnus's father Pollux." Andromeda shuddered. "If the Rosier family had seen beyond the Black family fortune and to what a horrible man Pollux was, maybe things would have turned out different for Bella."

Percy looked at the impossibly young looking teen, her blue eyes shadowed, and the inconsolable child in her arms.

Andromeda turned the page. A photo of two girls in Hogwart's uniforms waved at him, looking very much alike, although one had blond hair and one had dark.

"Cissy and I were raised more by our mother," she explained, "but of all the girls, I spent the most time with her. She died when I was 17 and Cissy was 14," A Andromeda explained, touching the photo of the two smiling girls. "This photo was taken Cissy's first year of Hogwart's."

She turned the page rather quickly, saying nothing more about it.

Andromeda's fingers fumbled over the next page. An older couple held two boys in a tight embrace, and Narcissa and Andromeda stood beside them, giggling and chasing a golden snitch in front of the Taj Mahal.

"Regulus and Sirius," Narcissa said, "with the other sane Blacks; Melania and Arcturus. They're still living. I'd like to go visit them sometime soon again with Dora. We try to see them every other summer, but they are getting older, you know. We ought to go again this year, I think."

Percy's brain had stumbled to a halt over the name Sirius but Andromeda seemed done with the photos, flipping past Dora's baby photos and to the back of the album where she showed him the family tree and explained their relationship through Phineas Nigellas Black.

Percy couldn't help himself. He traced his fingers over Sirius's name.

"What was he like?" He asked quietly.

Andromeda paused in thought, shaking her head. 

"Charming," she said, "with a mischievous streak a mile wide. His pranks could border on cruel sometimes, not that I thought much of that until afterwards." She pressed her lips to a thin line. "I never would have guessed he could do what he did to the Potters. They were his best friends."

She stood up quickly, busying herself with the cider.

"Old memories, Percy," she said with a brittle smile. "Of times best left in the past." 

She passed him a mug of cider.

"He was never given a trial," Percy said quietly, flicking back to that brightly coloured photo of the two doomed boys and their pretty cousins, waving and playing like any other children on vacation would.

Sirius was markedly handsome, with toffee coloured skin and dark eyes. His brother was a touch paler and thinner, his chin more pointed than Sirius's wide jaw. Sirius wore his hair long and wavey, whereas Regulus kept his straight hair carefully trimmed. 

"There was no appetite after the war for another Pureblood to get off the hook on some technical defense," Andromeda agreed. "And there was some trouble in his fifth year that was hinted to be quite Dark. Everyone in Slytherin knew he had betrayed his friend Lupin somehow, but no one knew what exactly he had done. It was serious enough that even I heard rumours about it, despite my graduating and running away with Ted." 

She smiled with troubled eyes over her mug of cider. "Being Head Girl has to have some advantages after all."

"My brother's Head Boy," Percy said. "I have a lot to live up to."

Andromeda reached across the table, squeezing his hand gently.

"Don't live in your brother's shadows, Percy," she advised him gently, "you're your own person. Remember that."

She took the photo album back from his hands, closing the cover with a thump against Sirius's teasing smile.

But when they had counted down the new year and stumbled bleary eyed into bed, those laughing eyes drilled themselves in Percy's mind.

Was it possible the ghost was right? What if Sirius Black was innocent of the crimes he'd been accused of?

~☆~

"You're right you know," the ghost said to him as they waited at the Hogsmeade station for the train to pull in. "If you approach this issue with Sirius head on, you'll be discriminated against. People will call you Dark."

Percy stared moodily at the icy rain that splattered the fields, shivering and wrapping his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Andromeda at least had given him a pair of warm green gloves when she discovered he had none, frowning for a brief moment and telling Charlie sternly all the boys should be expecting a pair from her from now on. She had then taught him the movements to a warming charm, and had him practice it until she was satisfied with the results.

'So what do you expect me to do?' Percy asked silently, dismayed. He fiddled with the gloves. They were as fine as his scarf from Demelza, and Charlie had said they were dragon hide with acromantula silk lining. Percy was convinced they must have been a family heirloom, but Andromeda had tutted at Percy's protests, reminding him that she was glad to have a nephew in her House she could indulge.

'You're in Slytherin, Percy,' the ghost sighed, 'you need to be subtle and cunning.'

She was standing by the edge of the train station, reaching one transparent hand to the icy drops. The wind blew a fine mist of cold air towards where Charlie, Percy and Tonks shivered, waiting for the Express to pull in. They could hear its bright whistle sounding from afar, the tracks rumbled. But in the bone chilling cold, it still seemed like light years away.

Percy furrowed his brow, considering the ghost's words.

Until meeting Andromeda, Percy had merely accepted his assignment to Slytherin. But seeing photos of her smiling and in her Head Girl pin, he had began to think that perhaps there was more to Slytherin than he had first assumed.

The ghost was dancing in the icy rain, twisting and twirling against the hailstones. She beckoned at him with a grin to join her. But Percy couldn't imagine what his brother and cousin would say if they saw him chasing the tiny whirling lights the ghost stirred up from the storm. Could anyone else even see the little beings, twirling like icy dragonflies in the dark sky?

'You need to decide what sort of a person you want to be, Percy,' the ghost said to him, 'who you want to be, not just what others want you to be.'

He considered this as the icy wind blew in, wondering what the cost of authenticity would be.

~☆~

That night, Percy lied in his bed in the Slytherin dorms, staring with unseeing eyes at the green canopy over his head.

He had passed all his tests. In fact, it turned out Snape had arranged for him to complete the third year exams for transfiguration and DADA. He hadn’t known that what was what he had written at the time, and he was able to admit ruefully that he might have been too nervous to complete them had he known. But now, having tested out, he was excused from those classes until fourth year; Snape had told him that he mustn’t bore himself. 

He was to attend third year Runes instead. Snape had given Percy a rare smile, explaining to him that as much as he had made a mistake with putting too much of his magic into engraving the rune, the fact that he had done so accurately spoke to his abilities. Snape had even hinted that Babbling might be willing to offer him an independent study if he proved his worth; a rare but coveted position. His classmates would merely be told that Percy’s strengths lie in other areas than in DADA and transfiguration; both he and Snape had strongly agreed on this point. 

It was best to be underestimated and overdeliver than the opposite, after all. And as his Head of House, Snape appreciated Percy’s natural tendency towards blending in.

But truthfully, this had been the ghost’s advice as well: 

‘Tread carefully, Percy,’ she had whispered in his ear, as Snape explained that Percy would be exempt from the two heaviest classes, ‘standing out can be dangerous.’

When he hesitatingly voiced this opinion to Snape, the man’s dark eyes steadied his for a long while. 

“So it is, Percy,” he said at last, nodding slowly, “so it is.”

And so they obscured Percy’s excellence under a veneer of his lack of power. 

Percy found, staring at the canopy, that he was satisfied with this conclusion. He didn’t need the accolades of others; he and Snape knew what he had achieved. 

He preferred the shadows anyway. 

The shadows were for Slytherin. 


	9. The Pursuit of Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My plan was to do a chapter per Percy's school year... but this got way too long! As a result, I am ruining my plan for 13 chapters. *sigh*. Anyway, I was gonna wait to post this until I finished writing about Percy's third year but nah. You guys deserve this after a week like this! Stay safe, and always remember to resist fascism!

Bill graduated Hogwarts with eight NEWTs. His marks were good enough that he had been offered an internship with Gringott's as a curse breaker. Molly seemed divided between pride and worry, clutching her hands and entreating Bill to be careful in one breath and congratulating him for the fiftieth time in the next. She had made an enormous celebratory meal; shepherd’s pie, steaming cider, and treacle tart for dessert. The family was vibrating with the excitement, Ginny going so far as to sit on her eldest brother’s lap for the last half of the meal. Bill, of course, only indulged her with a smile. Luna, who had become fast friends with Ginny, then decided to claim Percy’s knee. Finally, hours after the meal was over and Percy, Bill and the girls were lying in front of the fireplace playing exploding snap while the boys wrestled, Molly looked at the time and jumped up, sweeping Luna off to take her by Floo to her own home and bed. Ginny wandered to bed yawning, and the twins and Ron started looking sleepy enough that their Dad started making moves towards putting them to bed.

Bill, Percy and Charlie stole away from the younger boys' sleepy protests and climbed up from the balcony onto the sloping roof above Percy and Charlie's room. They were sated and lazy, their bellies comfortably full after the celebration meal Molly had made, looking at the night sky together.

"Central Africa," Charlie said with wonder, sipping from a bottle in a paper bag and passing it to Bill, "next thing you know Bill will be a curse breaker in Egypt!"

Bill laughed, took a swig from the bottle.

"Maybe one day if I'm really lucky," he said wistfully, looking out at the stars. "Gringott's only takes the best curse breakers to Egypt."

"You'll get there, Bill," Percy reassured him. "I have total faith in you."

Bill grinned at Percy's tone, reached over to ruffle his hair affectionately. 

"Thanks, Perce," he said. "Now let's just hope Gringott's feels the same."

They settled into a comfortable silence, their backs warmed by the shingles, the night sky glittering above them. Bill's hair had gotten longer, and he was fingering it now with a thoughtful expression. 

"It was you who inspired me to study harder at runes, you know, Percy" he said. "I was tempted to drop it in my seventh year. But you and that sword of yours made me think twice." Bill pulled an amulet out from around his neck. It was the onyx pendant Molly had given Bill for his seventeenth birthday, one of the few family heirlooms she guarded fiercely. Bill fiddled with the stone as he talked, turning it over in his fingers.

"When the goblins came to Hogwarts to recruit, one of them saw me pulling power from this stone to break one of their test curses. I thought for sure I was done for. But instead, he took me to the head goblin, who studied the amulet for a few minutes and asked me to show him how I charged it. After I showed him, he hired me on the spot."

The boys were silent, watching the stars flicker.

"Bet you nearly pissed yourself in fear," Charlie said after a while, sniggering.

Bill snorted.

"It was a near thing," he agreed, taking a swig of the bottle.

"Pass me that," Percy said, reaching out his hand to grab the bottle.

Bill moved it further out of Percy's reach, grinning.

"Ickle Percy wants to try some grown up juice?"

Percy groaned, covering his eyes.

"Come on, Bill," he protested.

Bill shrugged, passed him the firewhiskey.

"It's not butterbeer," Charlie warned him, propping himself up on one elbow to watch as Percy took a swig.

Percy's throat and eyes burned as he swallowed, and he passed the bottle back to Bill, coughing.

"How does anyone like that stuff?" He asked, as Bill and Charlie laughed.

But he couldn't help but think as he looked up at the stars, that this would be one of the last times the brothers would have together while they still lived under the same roof.

~☆~

 _I have it on good authority that Binns assigns grades based on the order of last name and House_ Percy read, his fingers tracing the fine grain of the parchment. He didn't need to unroll the letter to know who it was from. Marcus Flint's script was neat and fanciful as the paper he wrote on, whereas Penelope Clearwater's was practical and unadorned, written on lined paper with the biros she had shown him. Percy thought they were much less messy than quills and ink.

_Penelope, with the only C last name in Ravenclaw in our year, you are sure to get an A. I know you think this is unacceptable, but don't worry. My informants tell me you can appeal by bringing your written work to your Head of House. You will then be at Flitwick's mercies. Sorry about your luck._

Percy smothered a giggle at this. Flitwick was a notoriously tough grader for such a seemingly friendly and cheerful man.

_I should get an E.E. for the next few years no matter what quality of essay I submit, and fully intend on proving this point by submitting nothing but animated drawings of trolls getting their head chopped off. I'll be spending the time studying transfiguration instead. This will either kill me from the strain or save me from an untimely death at my mother's hands, who definitely will have my hide if I don't do better than the 'acceptable, but barely' McGonagall gave me this year. Weasley, thank whatever relative you have that attended there when Binn's popped his clogs, you'll be getting an O. Not that anyone will doubt it, coming from you._

Marcus went on to talk about their family trip to visit family in Poland and his hope to join the Quidditch team now that some of the strongest upper years had graduated. He spent half his letter trying to convince Percy to join, and the ghost surprised him by murmuring "you should, you know, you'll meet people."

Percy tapped his quill against the parchment, considering his response. His friends had grown closer over the past year, and they had been keeping to a schedule of writing to one another weekly over the summer. The news from Marcus about his history of magic grade solved a problem he'd been mulling on.

He had been musing with the ghost nearly daily about Sirius Black, and he had come to the conclusion that if he was going to pull off something as audacious as the freedom of a notorious criminal, he needed to understand better how to influence people, how to spin a story to his benefit. After tearing his hair out trying to imagine how he was to learn how to be more politically astute, he had settled upon a mundane answer; to study more. He had questioned when he would find the time, but now Marcus had dropped the answer into his lap. The ghost even had made Percy a list of Muggle texts that would help him begin this project; ironically, most of them were about Muggle history. So Percy wrote to his friends that his plan for Binn's class was to study Muggle history and politics. It made him sound like an enormous swot, he realized, but he figured the best way to learn about how to free Black and not be labelled a Death Eater himself was to study about people who had achieved their means despite impossible odds. 

When he was done with his response, the letter attached to the owl's leg and Errol out the window, Percy thumbed the letter on his desk he hadn't sent, frowning. 

It was addressed to Sirius Black. It spoke of nothing really, just questions about why he had abandoned his duty to his godson and landed in jail. The ghost had advised him to write extensively on this subject, berating the man and reminding him that no one had ever seen photos of Harry looking happy, with friends or family. Though he would have never noticed it without the ghost's solemn observations, the boy was singularly alone. But no one else seemed to notice that aspect of the scant photos that had been captured of Harry Potter's life. It was all useless speculation and adoring anecdotes about his parents, or interviews with various witches and wizards and where they had been the first time they heard the war was over and Voldemort was dead.

On impulse, Percy included a torn out page of the society section of the newspaper with his letter, the one that showed a photo of a young and tired looking Harry in an oversized sports coat. He had no hat or mittens, and was pacing back and forth in front of what was alleged to be the entrance to his babysitter's house. The house at least, seemed to have decent protection. It showed up blurry in the photo, no identifying details apparent. 

The boy in the photo shivered in the light snowfall, his hands jammed deep into his coat pockets, his chin hunched into the collar of his coat for warmth. 

Percy didn't know how anyone could look at that photo and see a well adjusted child, but the headline screamed "Harry Potter: he's just like you or me" and speculated for the umpteenth time on the identity of his guardians. 

Percy couldn't send an owl to Azkaban. The poor thing would likely end up eaten alive, whether by Dementors or the maddened prisoners themselves. He needed to hire a lawyer to deliver his letter to the guards to take to Black. But the spare change he earned helping his Muggle neighbours tending their vegetable stand at the farmer's market was not going to be the kind of funds he needed to cover a lawyer's fees.

He wondered how he was going to ever get enough money to send his letter. He had read and reread it so often the parchment was becoming soft and the ink vaguely smudged. 

Still, he gathered his coins, he sold honey from a hive he had captured from a swarm in the wild and prayed it would be enough.

~☆~

Bill accompanied Charlie and Percy to the train that September. The rest of the family trailed behind the three boys in a ragtag group. Even little Luna and Neville had been given permission to join the Weasleys on the trip to the station instead of staying behind with Muriel for homeschooling. And so the two children joined the herd of Weasleys, giggling and staring at all the other families as they made their way along the platform. Between keeping half an eye on all the children wandering along in his mother's wake, and answering Luna's many bizarre questions, Percy barely had the time to notice his increasing melancholy. It was the last time he would see his brother before Bill took the six international Portkeys that would bring him to the Congo to begin his training with Gringott's. 

He tried not to sniffle as Bill ruffled his hair in front of the steaming train and said his good byes. 

"I got ya something for a back to school present," Bill said. He handed Percy a lumpy envelope as the whistle gave a warning blast. Percy was too overcome with emotion to respond.

"Marcus wrote to me over the summer," Bill explained, luckily talking in the sudden silence between them so Percy could pretend the lump in his throat wasn't there. "He told me you might need this," he added, winking at Percy and patting his shoulder.

"What is it?" Percy managed to ask, examining the odd bump in the letter.

"You'll see soon enough. But don't open it till you're safely on the train, Percy," Bill said, waving a teasing finger. "You wouldn't want to lose it."

Percy opened his mouth to quiz Bill more, but Molly had stepped up as Bill stepped back, wrapping Percy in a tight embrace. Even his Dad was there, an inclusion that startled Percy from the years of his Dad being unable to get any time off work for the school send-off. Then everything was a blur of hurried embraces and goodbyes, and Percy didn't have time to think about his impending separation from Bill because Charlie was herding him onto the train, the twins chattering excitedly behind them.

Percy followed Charlie numbly, his eyes still moist with unwashed tears, clutching the letter so tight his knuckles were white. Charlie found Tonks sitting alone in one of the compartments, and gestured the twins to join them, but Fred and George laughed and said they would find their own seats. Percy hardly dared to imagine what mischief they would get up to without at least one brother to keep an eye on them, but Charlie just waved them off to hunt out other unsuspecting first years. He, Charlie and Tonks weren’t alone in their compartment for long. Percy was pleased when they were quickly joined by Marcus, Penelope and Oliver. Tonks just rolled his eyes and laughed at Penelope's complaints at being surrounded by Quidditch fanatics, saying that at least he and Charlie didn't complain at being surrounded by wee bairns.

"Oh knock it off, we're third years now," Penelope protested with a groan, and then eyed Percy suspiciously. "What's that, Perce?" She asked, leaning over his shoulder to peer at the envelope gripped tight in his hands.

"Don't know," Percy answered, trying to stuff the envelope in his pocket. He didn't want to start crying in front of all of his friends. But now Charlie was on him, elbowing him with a knowing grin.

"Go on, Percy, open it," he said, and Percy knew resistance would be futile now that five pairs of eyes were glued to him, expectant.

He slid open the envelope with a careful gesture from his wand, and pulled out a miniature broomstick on a long chain. Percy blinked at it in confusion, turning it over in his fingers. It looked just like a tiny version of Bill's Cleansweep. He wondered why Bill had gotten him such an odd pendant.

Oliver and Marcus were gaping at it, open mouthed. Charlie was grinning widely.

"Set it down on your lap," he said. Percy blinked, wondering what his brother was up to, but followed the strange advice.

Charlie tapped it with his wand, muttering "engorgio!" It was only then a shocked Percy realized that it wasn't a pendant at all, and he now had a fully functioning broomstick on his lap.

"Your brother is the best!" Oliver enthused, running his hand along the wood with care as Percy's brain slowly stuttered to catch up to this development. "It's his old one, isn't it?"

Percy could only gape at it.

"It is," he sputtered in agreement, "I could never afford to buy one for myself!" Percy was immediately worried, looking at Charlie, biting his lip, "But Charlie, what if Bill needs it? He's going to the Congo as a curse breaker. What if he needs to get away from a curse?" 

But Charlie was merely grinning.

"He has a job now, Perce," Charlie reminded him, "if he really needs a broom, he can buy one for himself."

Percy picked out the parchment from the envelope, still too stunned to join in Marcus's and Oliver's admiring chatter.

_Dear Ickle Percy,_

_Your friend Marcus has been writing to me all summer, telling me I need to convince you to try out for the Slytherin team. His owl always seems to know to go for me while you're still sleeping. Bet ya never even guessed that owl gave me at least three letters before delivering you yours._

Percy looked up from the letter to shoot a suspicious glance at Marcus and his great black barn owl Odin, but Marcus was too absorbed in a raucous debate with the others about Quidditch to pay him any mind. He ducked his head back to the letter,

_Anyway I figured I'd do one better than try and talk you into it. Thought I'd send you back to school with my broom, so you'd have no good excuse for not giving the team a try. And before you get your pants in a knot about it being too big of a gift, just remember I'm your big brother and I'm allowed to spoil you if I want. Don't know if I'd have got the job without you after all. Now remember life is about more than just studying._

_Your brother,_

_Bill._

Percy had to swallow a couple of times before he was ready to join Marcus and Oliver in admitting he would be trying out for the team in the fall. They cheered at the news, Marcus clapping his back and Oliver warning him he'd crush him in Quidditch even though they were friends.

Penelope just sighed hopelessly, joking that now that Percy had left her lonely and grounded, she was the only one of them sane enough not to risk life and limb for a sport.

~☆~

The twins were sorted into Gryffindor together, of course. Percy had had one moment of wild hope, when the hat stayed over Fred’s eyes for just a hair longer than he would have expected, but felt his stomach drop as it shouted out “Gryffindor.” And he knew, wherever Fred went, George would surely follow, and so he watched with amusement as the two walked in tandem over to the Griffyndor table together, each step perfectly in sync as they took seats next to Charlie. 

At breakfast the next day, when the rest of his class had received their timetables and were comparing notes, Percy stared in consternation at his. His transfiguration and Defense classes were marked as time for independent study, as usual. He had chosen ancient magic, arithmancy, magical languages, and of course, runes again for his electives. He had considered and rejected the idea of taking six electives for one wild moment, but quickly realized it would be more pain than what it was worth.

However, rather than his runes elective, a familiar wiry script wrote 'independent study' in the fourth year runes time slot, just like his transfiguration and Defense class. 

A note shimmered in emerald green at the bottom of the schedule, to meet Snape in his office Tuesday at 4pm for further information.

Percy arrived at 4:01, panting from running down the stairs from the charms classroom near the Ravenclaw tower.

Snape was waiting for him, his hands folded on the desk in front of him.

Percy jogged into the office, closing the door behind him and waited with his arms clasped behind his back, studying the short, stocky witch who stood behind Snape with curiosity. 

"Have a seat, Mr. Weasley," Snape invited him. Percy sat, trying not to gawk at the unfamiliar witch.

"Mr. Weasley," Snape said, "this is Professor Babbling. She will be the new Runes instructor at Hogwarts this year. I have provided Professor Babbling with a copy of your Runes exam from last year and your Defense exam from last December."

Percy shook Professor Babbling's offered hand, smiling to cover his confusion.

"Pleased to meet you, Ma'am," he said automatically. 

The dark skinned witch was smiling broadly.

"I was most impressed with your discussion of the use of Runes in your Defense test," Professor Babbling enthused, pushing her mass of wild curls out of her eyes as she spoke. "I'll get straight to the point, Percy; your academic work is so far ahead of the fourth year curriculum that I don't want to bore you with it. My only concern is your grasp of the practical skills. But Professor Snape tells me you have an example of this?"

Percy looked to Snape for guidance, who connected with his eyes. A reassuring thought popped into his mind, that Babbling was trustworthy. His Occulumency had progressed to the point that Percy was able to recognize a foreign thought in his head, and he recognized the mental voice as Snape's. He dropped his shoulders slightly, realizing they'd become tense at the attention.

"Yes Ma'am," Percy admitted, and pulled out a pouch he kept spelled around his neck. Babbling blinked as Percy pulled the earring box out from it. The pouch had an extendable charm on it, as well as a notice-me-not, and so it must have looked very odd as he retrieved the earrings from the seemingly small pouch. It had been Bill and Charlie's birthday gift to him, and it was a fine piece of magic.

He opened the box and Professor Babbling stared at the runes engraved in the stone, at the power that glowed from them.

"Remarkable," she murmured, studying the emerald earrings in the torchlight, watching how the light shone through the faceted jewel, "nearly unbelievable that a second year did this on his own."

"And he ended up in the hospital ward for his attempt," Snape added gruffly.

Professor Babbling set the earrings back down in the box, and Percy quickly hid them away in his pouch again.

"Well!" Professor Babbling said, pleased. "Do you accept my offer, Percy?"

Percy blinked at her.

"You still want me for an independent study even though my power is so weak I landed in the hospital after doing that last year?" Percy asked in surprise.

"Hmph!" Professor Babbling said, leaning back in her chair, "you'll learn soon enough Percy, that power isn't all there is to being an accomplished wizard! Wit and cunning do count for something after all."

Percy hesitated, glanced again at Professor Snape, who blinked reassuringly at Percy.

"Then yes," Percy blurted out, offering his hand to Professor Babbling, "of course I'll do it!"

She grinned a wide grin, shaking his hand enthusiastically. 

"You'll enjoy it, Mr. Weasley," she assured him, "and you're making the right choice."

~☆~

Unlike Percy's Defense and Transfiguration classes, he couldn't hide from his classmates that he was doing an independent project in runes. This garnered him a great deal of attention in the Slytherin common room:

"What were you doing coming to Babbling's classroom today, Percy?" Chelsea Belby asked him absently. They were going over their notes for the specialized potions they were making; pepper-up and calming draught. Snape had implied if they were able to make it to his standards, they would supply the matron with her winter stock; and in return, their potions ingredients for the year would be supplied for them both. It was a deal he only ever offered to Slytherins. He and Chelsea had been pouring over their textbooks in preparation. Percy needed the financial help, whereas Chelsea needed the reassurance that she could handle the practical side for when she inherited her family's business.

Percy hesitated at Chelsea's question, uncertain. He could hardly claim he was doing remedial runes work when it was an elective he could have simply dropped.

But his hesitation had only served to capture Chelsea's attention more fully. She looked up from the books strewn across their shared study desk and narrowed her eyes.

"Don't get all shy on me again, Percy," she said. "You've got another class of advanced work, don't you?" 

"Another?" Percy said frantically, wondering how she had realized his defense work was continuing under Snape's tutelage. 

But Chelsea just rolled her eyes at him, gesturing at their shared desk.

"It's hardly a secret anymore, Percy," she said, "not now that we're the brewers for Madam Pomfrey."

Percy blushed. He still hadn't thought much about the extra brewing he did for Snape. He had been so focused on not falling behind that he had nearly failed to notice that he was making potions that were above his age level.

Chelsea was grinning at him in amusement.

"Come now," she said, "don't tell me you got so taken in by Snape's sourpuss act that you ignored the fact that he's given us a great deal of responsibility?"

Percy smiled sheepishly.

"A bit," he admitted.

"Did you get an independent study with Babbling?" Chelsea asked, leaning forward, her eyes sparkling. "Snape told me I could likely do one with him in my seventh year, but for now, supplying the infirmary will be enough."

Percy nodded, ducking his head and hoping that Miles, who was looking up from his transfiguration textbook, wasn't listening as hard as he seemed.

"Well, you'll have to help me on my Runes homework, then," she said, "I'm struggling with it."

"What's this?" Miles said, walking over to join their table, "mate, you got a Runes independent study in third year? How is that even possible?"

"I impressed the Runes professor last year," Percy admitted sheepishly. "And I included some Runes in my Defense exam that made the new Runes instructor think I could handle it."

"I thought you didn't write that exam," Chelsea objected.

"Just because I can't do all the practical work doesn't mean I don't have to write the exam!" Percy protested. "I have to study really hard to pass them. I just can't do all the practical every week or I burn myself out."

It was almost the truth. Snape had covered for Percy's trips to the hospital by claiming Percy had overdone himself practicing for Transfiguration. Most wizards would never admit to such a weakness, not even to their closest friends. But Percy strongly believed that being overlooked and underestimated was a far safer option than being noticed, especially if the visions he had of war and death were even halfway true. And he definitely didn't want anyone to know he had been experimenting with magic that wasn't exactly on the fully Light side.

Chelsea blushed crimson at Percy's frank admission, but Miles, not used to the wizarding stigma, just rolled his eyes. 

"Not like the lack of power stops you from getting straight O's," he said, taking a chair next to them both. Rosa Prewett, a cousin from his mother's side, looked mildly put out by Miles leaving her sitting alone at her table. She and Percy had an unofficial truce they had acted out since Percy was sorted into the same House as her. They would acknowledge each other's presence, but avoided speaking to one another. Molly had made it very clear to all her children that her sisters, having abandoned Molly and her older brothers when the war broke out and running to the newly democratic Spain, claiming the family land there, that the children were not to get close to that side of the family. It made life in Slytherin house a touch difficult for Percy. 

"Does this mean you can help me with Runes too?" Miles asked.

Percy opened his mouth to say yes, but Rosa sighed with exaggerated exasperation, slamming shut her textbook and staring at the huddled group with baleful eyes.

"Really, Percy," she said, "I can't in good conscience stand by and watch my cousin make such a rookie mistake. Are you, or are you not, a third year in Slytherin?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Percy muttered, not quite meeting Rosa's eyes.

She sighed theatrically, gesturing to Miles and Chelsea. 

"You're going to do all that work," she said "and not ask for anything in exchange?"

"What would I ask for in exchange?" Percy asked blankly.

The ghost laughed at him even as Rosa spluttered.

'Really Percy,' the ghost smiled, 'the obvious answer is money. And that's something you've been trying to figure out how to make all summer. '

Even Chelsea and Miles were rolling their eyes.

"My parents gave me a budget for tutoring," Miles said. "If you can help me in potions too, I'll give you some of that money."

Percy looked expectantly to Chelsea, who sighed theatrically. "Oh, all right," she grumbled, "I've got some pocket change too."

"I'll need ten Galleons from you both," Percy said, trying to hide how bold he felt asking for so much. But neither of them blinked. "Per semester," Percy added, stunned when again neither protested. It made him wonder if he should have asked for more.

~☆~

Word of Percy's study group got around after Miles began to get O's on his Potions assignments. Percy watched his sickles pile up, and slowly a warm feeling of hope began to bloom in his chest. He felt his luck was finally beginning to change, an impression that was only confirmed when Aaron Nott cornered him in the library one day in October:

"I hear you give Potions tutoring," the fifth year mumbled, scuffing his shoes and looking down at the floor. They were standing in the book stacks, where Percy had been looking for Runes books for his independent study. The ghost had been insistent that Percy should focus on making protective amulets. Babbling had warned him it was a very difficult and painstaking process. But the ghost had continued to nag him about their importance, and finally Percy had given in. The choice of independent study set, he was now feverishly searching for information to help him carry out the ghost’s requests. She had surprisingly little information for him about what all the process would entail, unlike her usual insightful commentary. He fumbled his tall pile of books to his chest, studying Nott in surprise.

"Sure," he said slowly, "but the highest I can tutor is fourth year. And I can't even do all of those, just the ones that Chelsea and I make for Madam Pomfrey "

Nott shrugged, flushing. 

"IfailedfourthyearPotions," he muttered, shifting from foot to foot.

Percy squinted at him.

"What?" He said blankly.

"All right, all right, don't rub it in," he sighed. "I'm only in the fifth year class because Snape agreed that as a favour to my father, he wouldn't hold me back. But I have to pass the fourth year exam by this December or I won't be able to write my potions OWL in the summer."

Percy grimaced. He couldn't imagine the flak he would get from his Mom if he failed to write one of the mandatory OWLs.

"Rough, mate," he sympathized.

"So you will help?" Nott asked, his shoulders tense 

"Of course I will," Percy said automatically. Nott's shoulders slumped in relief at the words.

"Thanks, Percy," he said, his voice colorful in relief, "I'll owe you one. If there's anything I can do for you, just let me know." The boy turned to leave, but the ghost raised her eyebrows at him.

'Isn't his Dad a lawyer?' She asked him, tilting her head at Aaron Nott in consideration.

Percy bit his lip.

"Actually," he said hesitantly to Aaron, interrupting the boy's departure, 'there is something I need."

Aaron turned towards Percy, halted.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Your Dad," Percy hesitated, but the ghost nodded at him in encouragement. "He's a lawyer, right?"

Aaron shrugged.

"Sure," he said.

"I'll need to talk to him," Percy said.

Aaron settled his shoulders, a determined expression rising on his face.

"If you can help me pass my Potions exam this December, he will be more than happy to talk to you," Nott agreed, offering Percy his hand.

Percy struggled with his stack of Runes books, tucking them under his arm so he could awkwardly offer Nott his hand.

They shook hands, a spark of magic rising between their clasped hands, a warm comfort of a deal that meant much to them both, made in honesty. 

~☆~

Percy didn't make the Quidditch team, but Marcus did. The weekly flying practice between Charlie, Tonks, Oliver and Percy expanded to include Marcus. It was a welcome distraction from Percy’s responsibilities, and he found that with Charlie and Tonk’s guidance, he was becoming a much more daring flyer. When Oliver clapped him on the back one cold night in late November, when the wind had cut so badly against his cheeks and hands that he would have fallen off his broom if it weren’t for the warming charms Andromeda had taught him, he was surprised when a wave of warmth spread up his chest at Oliver's touch, at his reassurance that he would make the Slytherin team next year for sure. 

His tutoring with Snape in Occulumency also was going well. He was still doing beginner exercises, imagining candle flames or working on using a veneer of thoughts to cover his true intentions, but Snape seemed satisfied with his progress.

They could only meet once every two weeks, as Snape had his hands full with teaching classes on top of his duties as Head of House. It made Percy especially grateful to have his attention, and further convinced of the importance of his task. 

“Unscrupulous people would do terrible things to you, Percy, if they found out about these visions,” Snape said soberly one dark night as the wind beat against the castle walls. In the winter, the cold sunk deep into the dungeons, and the crackling fires in Snape’s office was as necessary as the tall candles he burnt from Samhain to Imbolc. The candles cast Snape’s face in a study of contrasts, the angular planes of his face shadowed dark while the crescents of his pale skin reflected the candlelight.

“I know, sir,” Percy agreed, continuing to hold the vision of the candle in his mind, despite the feathery feeling of Snape’s Legilimency wisping against his mind. 

“These lessons will become more difficult as they progress,” Snape warned him. 

Percy frowned, focused on the image of a flame. 

“I understand sir,” he said softly. “I won’t fail you.”

Snape’s hand on his shoulder as he dismissed him that evening struck Percy as surprisingly light.

~☆~

Percy didn’t know that he could get anxious about someone else’s exams until the winter break hit. He thought he chewed his nails from the beginning of the break until the moment he was back in Hogwarts. 

It had been a hard Christmas, their family's first without Bill. As much as Bill wanted to visit, he didn’t have the money yet for an international Floo ticket. So it was almost with a sense of relief that Percy returned to school, not having to face the gaping hole in his family, too closely echoing his nightmares of a world where Bill had disappeared one day and never returned.

When Aaron Nott met him in the common room, a grin slowly climbed on his face. 

“That meeting with my Dad?” he asked, pulling Percy under his arm and walking with him to his room, “It’s on. First Hogsmeade weekend. He’ll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron.”

"You did it?" Percy asked, smiling under the pleasant weight of Aaron's arm. The fifth year's eyes gleamed in the fire of the sconces, his chin dimpled with a smooth line that Percy had a sudden, insane urge to run his finger along. 

Aaron grinned back at him, squeezing his shoulder.

"Thanks to you, Percy," he agreed.

The warm feeling of Aaron's arm around his shoulders stayed with him long after Percy had settled into his bed that night.

~☆~ 

“Azkaban,” Mr. Nott said, staring in disbelief at Percy as he sipped a sugary sweet butterbeer. “You want me to deliver a letter to Azkaban.”

They were sitting in a private booth at the cauldron, privacy charms and a subtle notice me not shielding them from prying eyes.

Percy did his best to ignore the penetrating stare Daniel Nott had perfected. He reminded himself that Aaron's father was not the Nott seat heir, that the man in front of him was a professional, not someone who had once been an accused Death Eater. It helped take away some of the intensity of that gaze, reminding himself that Daniel had done his schooling in Israel, far from the chaos of the wizarding civil war. 

"Yessir," Percy said evenly, setting his butterbeer down on the heavy wood table and meeting Nott's gaze. He concentrated on thinking about a candleflame. Snape had told him it would improve his Occulumency to practice frequently in daily life, and with Nott's dark eyes boring into him, Percy felt he needed the extra layer of calm. 

"What for?" Daniel Nott asked him plainly, narrowing his eyes.

Percy shifted in his seat, looked down.

"Do I have to tell you?" He asked, trying not to sound young and petulant. He didn't know if he had succeeded or not.

"No," Mr. Nott said simply, "but I can't properly advise you if I have no information."

Percy looked towards the ghost, who was studying Mr. Nott with a frown. For once it seemed she had no guidance for him, other than saying quietly, 

'Don't tell him who, Percy, if you can at all avoid it."

Percy looked back to Mr. Nott, his dark eyes serious behind his spectacles.

"It's a family matter," he said stiffly. "It's just a letter. Nothing serious."

"Ahh," Mr. Nott said, and his eyes seemed to soften. "Have you considered, Percy, that there is such a thing as lost causes?"

Percy realized with a start that he probably thought Percy had inherited his grandfather's delusions about his great Uncle's innocence, that he was resurrecting Ali's quest to free Gwilliam and Pyrites.

"I know, sir," Percy said softly, "but it's just a letter."

Mr. Nott sighed, took off his spectacles. 

"I'm not a miracle worker," Mr. Nott said, eyeing the bag of sickles and galleons Percy had slowly amassed. Percy had set it on the table between them, proof that he was beating his family's stereotypical poverty, that he could afford the conversation, "My cousin was a very different case from your family's."

Percy very nearly started. He forgot that Daniel Nott had provided the defense of the Nott heir, Theodore Nott Sr. Of course, Theo Nott Sr had been found innocent of all the crimes he had been accused of, and like Lucius Malfoy, had even gone on to take up his Wizengamot seat. It made Percy wonder how many desperate families had come to Nott over the years, believing if they just paid someone enough, their family member would be found innocent too. But no one had ever come for Sirius Black.

Percy swallowed carefully. 

"I don't expect miracles, sir," he said. "I'm not even asking for a defense. I just want a letter delivered to a family member."

Mr. Nott sighed, rubbed his eyes.

He pushed the bag of coins back towards Percy.

"Look, son," he said, "keep your money. You helped my son achieve something he thought was impossible. The least I can do is get your letter delivered for you. Just don't expect a reply back. Azkaban, it destroys people." His eyes, for a moment looked haunted.

"I know sir," Percy whispered, visions of a thick swarm cloud of Dementors circling Hogwarts shattering his calm. "I know."

~☆~

Exactly one week after Mr. Nott took his letter, Percy Weasley woke up to Slytherin common room agog in whispers. Mentions of imprisoned relatives, normally a white knuckle, silent spectre were once again floating in the air. Estrilda Carrow sat white faced and numb on the couch, her friends hovering by her side. Percy found out why at breakfast that morning, the newspaper blaring a headline in Marcus's fist: Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban. 

Percy snorted his pumpkin juice through his nose in shock and then looked around surreptitiously tto see if anyone had noticed. But Marcus looked as pale as Percy, studying the newspaper with wide eyes.

"Merlin," he whispered, shaking his head and crumpling the paper in his hands, "let's hope they catch him soon."

Percy only nodded, said nothing. Guilt twisted in his gut and his thoughts were running wild. Had his letter somehow enabled Sirius Black to escape prison? He sank into his seat, studying the wide eyes and hushed tones at the breakfast table. Had he somehow caused this?

~☆~ 

It was in the maw of winter in February that Percy saw a dark form huddled against the vent of the tropical greenhouse. Normally Professor Sprout used that area to grow cold hardy seedlings, but a large animal had wedged itself between the spelled plastic sheeting that protected the area from snow and the vents that warmed the area.

Percy was tempted to report the issue to Professor Sprout and let her deal with the stray, but the ghost gasped.

'Percy,' she breathed, 'you must go help that dog,' she said.

Percy looked at it doubtfully. It was an enormous heap, a mass of wet fur.

'That's a dog?' He said it out loud without meaning to.

He had been trudging through the snow with Marcus, who stopped and turned to face him at the comment. Marcus shivered, looking around.

"Where?" He said.

"There," he said, "By the greenhouse," he pointed at the enormous beast.

Marcus squinted at the huge shivering form.

"Guess so," he said, looking longingly back towards the castle.

"It's all right," Percy sighed, "go ahead. But I'm gonna check it out."

Marcus frowned in that stubborn way of his.

"No way," he said, setting his jaw. "I'm not gonna let my best friend get mauled by a wild animal."

Percy tried to hide the flush of pleasure at being referred to as a best friend, and the two trudged off towards the greenhouse.

The closer they got, the more obvious it became that the dog was not going to be mauling anything. The poor thing was skin and bones, shivering pathetically against the vent.

Percy cast a warming charm on the dog, who barely lifted his head to acknowledge them.

'Percy,' the ghost breathed, kneeling down next to the dog with a horrified look on her face, 'you have to help him. He's dying.'

Percy settled an uncertain hand on the animal's flank. It made a small whining noise but otherwise did not respond. 

"We've got to help it," Percy said.

"Maybe we should bring it to Professor Kettleburn?" Marcus suggested, uncertain.

'Hagrid,' the ghost suggested, her voice determined. 'Bring him to Hagrid.'

"What about Hagrid?" Percy suggested. He had some few interactions with Hagrid when he needed rare ingredients for his protective amulets. They weren't friends, but Percy knew the half giant cared for most of the animals in the forbidden forest.

"Good idea," Marcus said, his voice relieved. "Hagrid helps Kettleburn sometimes in Care of Magical Creatures. He's a soft touch. He once cried when a fire crab died." Marcus rolled his eyes.

"Perfect," Percy said, looking down to the caretaker's small cottage, the smoke rising from the chimney. "Let's go."

Percy concentrated very hard, and then cast a levitation charm on the dog, who barely stirred even at being lifted into the air. By the time they had trudged to Hagrid's cottage, Percy was panting with the effort of maintaining the levitation, sweat rolling down his back.

Marcus knocked on the door, but there was no answer.

The two boys looked at each other gloomily. 

"Now what?" Marcus asked. Percy's hand was beginning to tremble from the effort of levitating the dog, his knuckles white from holding his wand.

The ghost peered through the windows of the small hut, and then snorted, flying through the walls.

"I don't know," Percy said lamely, looking at the wall the ghost had flown through. "Maybe knock again?"

Marcus shrugged, knocked again.

A great creaking echoed through the house and then Hagrid stood in the door frame, his large body filling the door frame.

"Percy, Marcus," the man said, his eyes falling on the dog levitating behind them.

"What have you got there?"

"A stray," Marcus said, wrinkling his nose at the smell of whiskey strong in Hagrid's breath. Percy closed his eyes and concentrated on not dropping the dog into the snow.

"Ahh, well, what are you waiting for then?" Hagrid grinned, "bring him in."

With the last of his strength, Percy levitated the dog through the door, its paws scraping against the door frame as he did so, and set him on the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok... the following is the rest of my political rant. Feel free to ignore it. 
> 
> In America right now, I'm literally watching elected leaders inciting vote suppression and guys if you take anything from my writing, understand that this IS WHAT FASCISM LOOKS LIKE, ok? Don't be fooled!!! Remember propaganda is baseless accusations and plays on emotions, but it has real world consequences for the future of democracy. When the fascists come, they come for ALL OF US, our freedom, our lives, our ability to be authentic to ourselves. Freedom of religion, freedom of expression, freedom of choice, and yes, our very lives this is what is at stake. Our ancestors died for these rights. DO NOT BE FOOLED by those who are seeking to protect ONLY their OWN power when they say not to count the votes Americans made. I'm not even American, and I'm scared! Ok! Really scared! RESPECT HUMAN RIGHTS. Our democracy is imperfect. but God we'd miss it if it were gone. My ancestors escaped religious persecution, came to a democratic country to find freedom, so yeah, this is very real to me what happens when democracies crumble.


	10. Protection

Percy awoke to two faces staring over him, their brows furrowed with concern.

"Y'all right there, Percy?" Hagrid murmerred, his voice a dull roar even when he made an effort to be quiet.

"Yeah," Percy sighed, pushing himself up by his elbows from Hagrid's sticky floor. "Just wore myself out."

"You should have told me," Marcus said, gazing down at his toes and rubbing his neck, "I would have helped."

Hagrid lumbered down to Percy’s level and offered him a hand to pry him off of the floor. He hauled Percy to a thatched chair by his kitchen table where Percy tried not to lean his elbows into the table in defeat.

"I'll getchya a cuppa cocoa." Hagrid said, padding him on the back with an enormous thump.

"The dog," Percy managed to rasp, looking at the forlorn black figure stretched out on the couch. “He ok?”

The ghost was hovering over the dog, pressing a hand into its side a look of intense concentration on her face. The air around her hand sparkled blue, and the dog let out a long sigh. 

Marcus looked over at the dog, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“Was that--?” he looked at Percy’s face, who struggled to hide his own confusion at the ghost’s seeming obsession with the dog. “Nevermind,” Marcus said, shaking his head and walking over to the sofa. He pulled a thick blanket down off the back of Hagrid's sofa and arranged it over the dog’s flank, casting another warming charm over the dog’s shivering body. “The dog will be alright, Percy.”

Hagrid slammed a huge mug down on the table in front of Percy, and put another one out for Marcus.

“Marcus is right. He’ll be all righ,” Hagrid assured them, lumbering into his chair as Marcus came over to sit next to Percy. He nursed the cocoa mug in his weathered hands, and Percy thought he caught the vague stink of alcohol on Hagrid’s breath. His hair was even more of a wild mess than usual. “We get pets up here every once in a while, wandering up from Hogsmeade,” Hagrid said, “Usually I ask around a bit when I’m in town and it all gets sorted out soon enough. But that one’s owner doesn’t seem to have fed him too well. I won’t be reporting him missing any time soon, if you two get my meaning.”

Marcus and Percy looked at each other and grinned.

“Thanks Hagrid,” Percy said gratefully. “And sorry I fainted on your floor.”

“Oh, no problem,” Hagrid waved a huge hand affectionately, “Surprised you’re not in Professor Kettleburn’s care of magical creatures class, Percy. You seem to share your brother Charlie’s love of animals.”

“Oh,” Percy shrugged, thinking of the pet rat that simultaneously terrified and revulsed him for reasons he couldn’t fathom, and Charlie’s attempts to make friends with the ugliest mermaids Percy had ever seen, “only some animals, Hagrid.”

The dog was stirring on the couch, and Hagrid nodded at Marcus.

“There’s a bucket of hippogriff milk under me sink,” Hagrid said, “fetch it for me, will you Marcus? My head is pounding this morning.”

Marcus found the bucket while Percy slowly made his way over to the couch, settling the huge dog’s head on his lap. He petted the mangy animal’s matted fur while the ghost fretted uncharacteristically, hovering nearby.

“You’ll be all right, boy,” he whispered to the shivering creature, “We’ll take care of you.”

‘You must,’ the ghost whispered, intense, ‘you must.’ 

***

“You want to change the focus of your independent study to healing and warding?” Professor Babbling frowned at Percy, tapping her short fingers against her worn desk. She studied him with her warm brown eyes, a worry line pinched in the space between her eyebrows. “And you’re quite sure about this?”

Percy tried to meet her gaze without squirming. 

“I’m sure,” he said.

He knew he had been just as insistent earlier in the year about protective amulets, but the ghost was not moved on this point. She pestered him about his duty to the dog on a near hourly basis, until finally Percy had grudgingly agreed to try and help it with a Runes project.

Hagrid said the dog was shockingly clever, and after it had gained back some of its strength, it seemed to know its way around the Hogwarts’ grounds with an uncanny precision. Marcus and Percy had begun visiting the dog at Hagrid’s small cottage nearly daily. Eventually the creature had begun waiting for the two boys after their Herbology class, its curled tail wagging in shaggy delight for the treats Percy saved from his breakfast for it.

“He’s not a coward like Fang,” Hagrid laughed one day as the dog nosed a sausage out of Percy’s pocket, snatching it from Percy’s hands with a surprisingly delicate nip, “but he don’t like being left alone. I reckon he kept Fang up all night with his whining while I was gone to Hogsmeade. Poor Fang has been sleeping all day today.”

The ghost seemed to find that this was all the more reason for Percy to sneak the occasional Potion that he was supposed to make for Snape and take it to the dog instead; a calming draught or dreamless sleep that he and Chelsea had begun working on for the matron. When Snape raised his eyebrows at the lessened vials Percy passed him, Percy flushed and said he couldn’t get every batch perfect, and had to destroy the failed attempts. 

Snape only sighed and told him not to take too many without proper supervision.

But even the potions did not seem enough to convince the ghost of the dog’s improvement; and even Hagrid’s determined optimism flagged when Percy asked about the dog’s whines in the night, the times it shivered and refused to go anywhere but lie by Hagrid’s fire. 

“Someone must have treated him real bad, Percy,” Hagrid said heavily, patting the dog’s shaking side, “some animals never totally recover from it.”

The ghost insisted Percy try anyway.

And so he stood before Professor Babbling, trying not to bite his lip, his fists tightened in stubborn determination.

“It’s half way through the school year,” Professor Babbling said skeptically. “Hardly an ideal time to change your focus.”

Percy nodded, lowered his gaze.

“I know, ma’am,” he agreed, “But it’s not like I was getting very far with the protective amulets.”

Babbling sighed, running one hand through her copious curls.

“Well, that much is true,” she agreed wryly. “But it really was a ridiculous project for a third year anyway. I always thought that it was more like a NEWT year final thesis. And an advanced one at that. Still, you can learn even from failures. No one really expected this year’s amulet to work, Percy, least of all myself.”

“Will healing be easier?” Percy asked hopefully, as the ghost bobbed in dismay beside him. 

“Much easier,” Babbling said firmly. “For one thing, it’s an area of specialty of mine. I work often to help Snape with his potions, or Pomfrey with the Hospital wing.”

“I didn’t know that,” Percy said in surprise. 

Babbling beamed at him, radiating interest at her specialty.

"I did the research for my mastery In healing runes," she informed him, "and both potions and healing work can be supplemented with runes, either to power the spells or to lengthen or intensify the effects of thethem. I recommend starting with something simple, of course, maybe a general pick me up?"

"What about something for hopefulness?" Percy asked, looking aside at the ghost's clasped hands, her eyes wide as she stared at Pomfrey.

A look of sympathy passed over the professor's face and she reached across her desk to grab Percy's hand. 

"Dear," she said, "you know if there's anything you need, we can help you with it."

Percy blinked in confusion, drawing back from the earnest expression on Babbling's face, the sweaty grip of her hands. 

"Of course," Percy agreed slowly, "but I think this project will be easier than the others, especially if you have some ideas how I can begin..." Percy trailed off as he realized Poppy's concern and blushed deeply. Did all the teachers know of his mental problems? 

"It's not for me," he blurted out.

He didn't know if Babbling believed him or not but he left her office with a diagram of a healing runic warding circle in his satchel and hope blooming in his chest.

***

Winter stretched into spring and the furor of Quidditch reached new heights. Charlie and Tonks were both determined to battle to the death if they had to, and Percy spent long nights in the sky playing pick up Quidditch with them and Oliver. The two younger boys were being pushed to their limits to learn new things that they never would have without the two older students to challenge them. The dog would often watch their matches, beating its shaggy tail in the ground in happiness as he watched them fly. 

Percy sat one day after the Hufflepuff vs. Gryffindor match (Gryffindor won, much to Tonk’s frustration), petting the large dog and running his fingers over the loose collar he had set around its neck. He attached the runes where the dog tags would normally go. The stands had emptied and his friends had tried to coax him back into the castle for supper, but Percy was in a strangely wistful mood and wanted some time to himself before joining his friends.

“I can’t believe how much stronger you are,” he said to the dog quietly, running his hands over its flanks and admiring the way the fur had grown in thick and shiny, so different from the scraggly appearance the dog had several months ago. “I’m glad you’re doing better, pups.” The dog rolled over onto its belly and let Percy scratch the soft fur there, its tongue lolling out to the side lazily. Percy took the time to pour some more power into the rune for healing. Poppy had been impressed with how quickly he had caught onto the healing runes with her guidance, and so Percy had added a second project at the ghost’s prompting; protective runes to hide the dog from any with ill intent. He tapped this new rune and pushed a tiny amount of magic into it, and then dropped his wand by his side in fatigue. He jumped when he heard a throat clearing behind him. 

“Ahh, Percy,” Dumbledore sighed, the picture of regal splendor in his shimmering grey-blue robes, his half moon spectacles low on his nose, “I did fear when Professor Babbling told me about your independent study that I would find something like this.”

The dog stiffened under Percy’s hand. 

“Do you know of what I speak?” Dumbledore asked.

Percy fixed his gaze on the ground. 

“Some people think it’s wrong to store power,” he muttered, studying Dumbledore’s shoes. They were embroidered silk, like ballet slippers.

“I am one of those people, I’m afraid, my boy,” Dumbledore agreed, sitting down on the bench beside where Percy sprawled out with the dog. 

“But what is the use of runes, if not to store power?” Percy dared to ask, gazing up through his eyelashes at the Headmaster. 

“If the runes pattern is complicated enough, it only needs to be activated once,” Dumbledore explained, “And then it slowly releases its effect over a long period of time. Useful for many different types of healing, Percy, as I’m sure Professor Babbling explained.”

Percy nodded, patting the dog. 

This information was something he knew; but it was useless to him. He didn’t have the power to activate even the simplest of rune sequences. He had to go bit by bit, storing the power as he went; which at least Babbling understood. 

“She did, sir,” Percy agreed, fiddling with the sequences around the dog’s collar. 

Dumbledore motioned the dog over, fingering the metal tags engraved with runes. 

“Not bad at all, my dear boy,” he said, inspecting them with a close eye. “Most impressive, really, for someone your age. But why the runes for hiding?”

Percy shrugged. 

“Just wanted to see if I could,” he said. 

Dumbledore nodded. 

“A practical way to experiment,” he agreed, “using a mammal such as a dog. There’s no harm in it, of course, and it shows you the gaps in some of the common spells for tracking. All though I hope you have no fears of misplacing your dog?”

Percy shrugged.

“He’s not mine, sir,” he answered, “Just a stray that wandered in. Hagrid looks after him. And anyway, even if he wanders off during the day, he always comes back for food.”

“Well, then, Percy, perhaps a demonstration of some of the more complicated rune patterns for hiding are in order?”

The dog’s ears perked up at this suggestion. 

Dumbledore smiled at Percy, the light glinting off of his spectacles. 

He pulled a sickle out of his pocket and performed a complicated looking spell. The coin shrunk and separated into two; a copper coloured one and a silver one. 

“A minor transfiguration,” Dumbledore explained, handing Percy the copper coin. “Not alchemy, though people mistake it for such. Merely breaking down the alloy into its component parts; silver and copper. Do you know why, Percy?”

“Pure silver holds the spell better,” Percy answered automatically, his eyes round as he rolled the copper between his fingers. Dumbledore had made the complicated transfiguration with barely any excess heat in the metal.

“Quite so, Percy,” Dumbledore agreed, waving his wand and flattening the silver blob o fmetal in his hand into a flat dog tag. He waved his wand and a simple pattern of runes appeared on it. “You know this rune, Percy?”

“Algiz,” he agreed, studying it carefully, “For protection. My mother made us wear one every day until the war ended.”

Dumbledore nodded. 

“Yes,” he sighed, “They were quite popular for the past number of years, I’m afraid. And the way they interconnect? What do you see?”

“It suggests the shape of Tyr, sir,” Percy answered, “Meaning either war or justice. Together it means protection from war, that justice may prevail.”

“Quite so, Percy,” Dumbledore agreed. “And now, you see, when I activate it,” Dumbledore touched it in the middle, with a charm for hiding, and the entire rune sequence began to shine. “I don’t need to pour my power into it. I merely activate it with a charm. This way you hold your magic inside your body, where it powers you. If we leave too much of ourselves outside of our body, it strains our mind. If we do this too often, our emotional or mental health can suffer. Some say, our souls itself suffer. This is why it is said to be bordering on dark magic, Percy. Not because of what it does, but because the eventual effect it can have on the caster. You see?”

Percy looked away from Dumbledore’s kindly face, almost not bearing to look at his naive optimism that Percy could do as he had. 

“I see, sir,” he said, tears prickling in his eyes. He did understand Dumbledore’s concerns; but what was a child such as himself to do, if not store power? He could not accomplish what other children his age could, not by half. It seemed he would be doomed to a life bordering on insanity from the moment he had stepped into the clearing all those nights ago. 

“Did those charms work, sir?” he asked faintly, blinking back the heat behind his eyes “during the war?”

“They were of great assistance,” Dumbledore answered, passing Percy the charm, “though of course they could not hide someone of a known location. Still, it made tracking people who were on the run much harder. Hardest of all when there was no way to predict exactly where a person was. Their weakness is that if there is some suspicion of the location of the individual, they are easier to break. Study this one, if you like. You may find it helpful in your own work with Professor Babbling.”

He was interrupted from these thoughts by a soft bark. The dog was gazing at him and Dumbledore with bright eyes, its tongue lolling to one side, its tail thumping against the ground. Percy giggled, reaching into his cloak pocket for the dog treats he had picked up in Hogsmeade several weekends ago; pig’s ears. 

He had never seen the dog so happy. 

Dumbledore peered at Percy and the dog, the way the dog followed Percy’s every movement. 

“I can see you’ve taken good care of that dog, Percy,” he said, smiling as Percy patted the dog on the head, attached the rune charm Dumbledore had made for him on its collar. “I hope you will continue to consider what I’ve said.”

“Of course sir,” Percy agreed, automatically, trying for sober obedience although he had no intention to stop storing power in his runes. But the moment was interrupted as the dog began to bound and play, vibrating with excitement. 

Dumbledore chuckled, rising to his feet.

“I’ll leave you to your friend, Percy,” he said, and ambled towards the castle.

***

In another, darker timeline, an innocent man would have stayed in prison for another five years. 

But in this timeline, the stakes were lower: Percy’s final project disappeared before Babbling was able to mark the charms work he had done. 

Percy didn’t see the dog again after that fateful night in spring. Babbling was forced to give Percy a grade based on the Headmaster’s memory of the charms as they had been before the dog disappeared; Percy received an O. And considering that no one, not even Dumbledore, could break the combined charms that he and Percy had put on the dog’s neck and find the dog’s whereabouts, it was a well deserved O, in Percy’s opinion.

The ghost merely smiled when Percy asked her about the dog, and did not answer any of his questions about why it had been so important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, another chapter... my apologies for how long it is getting between chapters! If I was going to stick with my original plan, this would have been posted with chapter nine. But I've decided to make chapters a little shorter again to give myself a break!


	11. Revelations

Sirius Black remained at large throughout the rest of Percy’s third year. Percy himself was glad that the ghost had let the matter drop; he was quite exhausted with practicing his Occlumency, making potions for the infirmary, and tutoring his schoolmates. He was pleased to note that his pile of coins was slowly increasing; Bill would be proud of him. Percy however, did not have much time to accumulate money, as the ghost was on to her next obsession; his pet rat. 

She insisted that he carry the mangy thing with him everywhere that he went. He had managed to trade some favours with a seventh year making an overpowered Cheering potion in exchange for them charming one of the pockets of his robe with an extendable charm combined with an ever closed flap on it to keep the rat safely inside. 

Still, he often worried about it. Professor Flitwick had tired of his requests to make sure that there was a tracking charm on his rat. Percy had limited himself to only asking once a week to double check. Every Monday after class, he waited patiently at Flitwick’s desk until all the students had left the room. Then, he brought out the spelled rat cage and had Flitwick inspect the rat again. 

“Really, Mr. Weasley,” he sighed one Monday, the amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Why are you so concerned about your rat? Has he proven himself capable of apparition?”

Percy didn’t smile, though he knew the small man was trying to comfort him.

The knot of dread in his stomach wouldn’t allow him to. He kept having visions of the mangy thing transforming to a man with a Dark Mark on his arm and murder in his eyes.

“I lost my dog earlier this year,” Percy answered Flitwick softly, concentrating on his feelings of sadness about his loss of the friendly mutt instead of on these images of bloodshed and doom. It was the next stage of his Occlumency; making a shield of innocent thoughts to cover his worries about his visions. Professor Snape encouraged him to practice these techniques regularly, though he doubted that cheerful, kindhearted Professor Flitwick was practicing Legilimency on his students, and certainly not for a matter as seemingly benign as this. 

“I don’t want to lose another pet.”

“Ahh, well, Mr. Weasley,” Flitwick said gently, running the charm above the rat’s cage, “you can see that as ever, my tracking charm is still in place.” A bright gold light shone above the rat’s head, proving that the spell was just as intact as it had been the week before. Percy nodded gravely as he watched the spell light fade with a flick of the professor’s wand. 

“I hear that this is the exact opposite pursuit of your previous project?” the small professor said, quirking an eyebrow at Percy. “It’s okay to let go of the guilt, Percy. You did not cause your previous pet to be lost.”

Percy was touched by Flitwick’s thoughtfulness. “No sir,” he agreed, “I know it wasn’t my fault.” 

The ghost’s baffling smugness at the dog’s disappearance also reassured Percy somewhat in that regard. He would have expected the exact opposite reaction from her, given how insistent she had been that he protect the dog at all costs. He rather thought losing the dog would have evoked a stronger reaction from her. But who was he to question the psychic manifestation of his delusions?

“Well, Percy,” Professor Flitwick said. “Perhaps your next rune project should concentrate on finding lost animals rather than ensuring that they remain lost?” it was said gently, otherwise Percy might have suspected it was blame. 

A quirk of a grin tugged at Percy’s lips.

“Yes sir,” he agreed. The rat shivered inside its cage.

And so Percy began to research tracking Runes, and spent his pocket money on rare books about rune amulets, and materials for his amulets.

~☆~

Percy struggled through his exams that year, managing O’s in his theory work and A’s in his practicals, evening out to an overall EE, as usual. It shouldn’t matter to him; he knew it was exceptional work, but still, he couldn’t help but long for the unattainable O’s he had visions of. But the ghost insisted he save his stored powers for other endeavours. 

“Harder days are coming, Percy,” she warned him, her face uncharacteristically darkening. But for Percy, the sting of his visions was beginning to fade as he practiced his Occlumency. He began to have the mental space to enjoy other endeavours, and found himself pulled into the general enthusiasm about Quidditch as the year drew to a close and the playoffs began. Perhaps it was inevitable given the company he kept. Even Miles had started talking about trying out for the team. In the final tense game of the year, Gryffindor squeezed by with an unlikely win against Slytherin, leaving the Quidditch cup in Gryffindor’s hands, although Slytherin got the House cup, as usual. Charlie was jubilant, and Percy normally would have let himself get swept up in his brother's enthusiasm. But the end of the school year brought with it another surprise, this one all together less pleasant. 

“What do you mean, you’re not going to do your seventh year?” Percy asked Charlie, his eyes wide.

Charlie was grinning ear to ear, oblivious to Percy’s dismay. He waved a letter in Percy’s face, breathless. 

“I know, I can’t believe it either!” he grinned, buoyant. “Professor Kettleburn wrote me a letter of recommendation, and they accepted me!”

“Who accepted you?” Percy asked, struggling to follow his brother’s excited babble, leaning across the breakfast table to capture the letter from where Charlie was brandishing it. His voice had cracked and risen to an uncharacteristic pitch.

“The dragon reserve in Romania!” Charlie enthused, leaping up and wrapping his arms around Percy in enthusiasm, picking him up and spinning him around. “Do you believe it, Percy? Working with dragons!”

Percy studied Charlie, the freckles that sprayed across his nose and cheeks, his good natured cheer. He had a vision suddenly of his brother dressed in dragonhide from toe to nose and grinned. 

“I believe it Charlie,” he said, and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. 

~☆~

The summer was a quieter one than any Percy had experienced before. His father had received a small promotion at work, and Percy was shocked by how idle he felt, not worrying about the amount of vegetables the garden produced or how many eggs he collected. It was the first time in years summers were not driven by a frantic pace to gather the bare necessities of life. He was able to put his focus on his studies, writing to his friends. He spent as much time as possible with Luna and Charlie, enjoying a sense of expansive ease he didn’t think he’d ever felt before. It would have been perfect, all summer days of mellow sunshine and swimming in the creek, but for his one, constant worry: his rat. 

He had tried everything to relieve his paranoia, but nothing seemed sufficient to relieve his visions. He had even began to wonder if it was unethical to cut a rune pattern of finding into the soles of the rat’s feet he was so concerned, but the ghost objected to this. He focused instead on applyin spiralling patterns of rune sigils that would aide him to find thing. Every night he applied the dye to the rat's fur, with a careful hand. But this seemed to disturb the pitiable creature. It pulled out its own hair in large tufts, straining to reach its back where the rune patterns were thickest.. 

Ron was distraught at the rat’s distress, whining and insisting that he was hurting the creature. He begged Percy to give him the rat to him to care for.

But Percy was too scared to do so, haunted by a sense of responsibility for the beady eyed thing.

It wasn’t until his return to Hogwart’s for his fourth year that his fears were realized. He was lonely for Charlie, tired of the twin’s antics which had escalated without their older brother to rein them in. His classmates were frustrated with him for the amount of pranks that the twins aimed at their year, but didn’t understand that the more Percy protested, the worst they reacted. He worried about Luna, who had seemed withdrawn over the summer. Even Aunt Muriel had been musing about travelling back to Pakistan, satisfied that the Weasley children were well enough that they didn’t need her. He knew that he was old enough that it shouldn’t bother him, but he thought that he would miss her. It wasn’t that he saw her often during the year; it was merely knowing that she was close by that kept him feeling at ease. And so his paranoia about his rat rose to unparalleled levels as he threw all his energy into the thing.

He was back in Transfiguration class again, but spent most of his spare time working on his personal project; transforming the endS if his rat’s fur into diamonds. This was not alchemy, but a difficult and painstaking transformation wherein like Dumbledore had separated the copper from the silver to create a permanent transfiguration, Percy was attempting to separate out the carbon from the fur to crystallize it into diamond. 

He stood before Professor McGonagall after one class, trying to think of childish antics and not the deep sense of foreboding he felt every time he considered his rat. 

The guinea fowl to guinea pig transformation he had been attempting was completely untouched. 

Instead, he stood before Professor McGonagall with a shiny rat in his gloved hands. 

“Pray tell Mr. Weasley,” she said, raising her eyebrows at him, “is that your own pet rat?”

“Yes ma’am,” he admitted. 

“Cross species transfiguration is difficult Mr. Weasley,” she warned him, “And I should think you are old enough by now to know not to attempt something that could potentially harm your pet.”

Percy tried his best not to hunch his shoulders, not to shuffle his feet. He pulled a veil across his mind, willing himself to think of the interesting patterns across his rat’s fur, the challenge of the diamonds. 

“I’m only trying to change his fur, Ma’am,” he said quietly. “Dumbledore showed me a spell last year that separated copper from silver and it made me curious. I wanted to see if I can change the tips of the fur into diamonds.”

Professor McGonagall visibly startled. 

“Truly, Percy?” she said, switching to his first name in surprise. “You have accomplished this?” She held out her hand to take the rat and Percy handed it to her with great reluctance. 

SHe studied the glimmering fur in bemusement.

“This is a great accomplishment for a fourth year student,” she said musingly, running her hands along the animal’s now spikey fur. She frowned, studying the swirling patterns dyed onto the rat’s fur. “Runes, Percy?” she asked him, looking at him with a sharp eye.

Percy shrugged helplessly. 

“I didn’t want to lose him,” he said.

Professor McGonagall waved her wand above the rat’s fur, an amused grin teasing at the corner of her lips. 

“Indeed Percy, I can see that,” she mused. “This rat is covered in layers of magic. It’s no wonder you’re having trouble with furthering the transfiguration, though. The rune pattern is likely interfering. You don’t mind, do you?” she asked, as the rat began to squirm against her grip. 

Percy bit his lip. The diamonds would hold a rune spell better anyway. And the dye kept running or being pulled out as the rat scrubbed at the areas he could reach.

“Just make sure he doesn’t get away,” he muttered, “I don’t want to lose him. He’s important to me.”

McGonagall nodded, and waved her wand. Green ropes wrapped around the small rat’s body, holding him still.

The small thing struggled in the ropes, whimpering. 

“It will go better if I stun him,” she said, critically eyeing Percy as if to judge his likelihood to jump between her wand and his pet. “I I intend to undo your previous charms and this transfiguration, which will reverse your progress of course. but it will enable you to start fresh. You’ll get farther with a clean start.”

“It’s no problem, ma’am,” he agreed, his shoulders falling from the tense height they had risen ever since he had taken the rat out of its cage. It relieved the cold dread in his stomach whenever the rat was out of its cage to have it stunned. 

She nodded and set a confining spell on the desk; the same one Percy used to ensure his rat didn’t run too far when it was out of its cage, and stunned the squirming, whimpering thing. 

She picked up its limp body and pointed her wand at it, commanding

“ _ Revertatur ad pristinum! _ ” she cried, a silver light shooting from her wand. It hit the rat square in its torso and its whole body began to crackle, popping gruesomely and grow. The rat shuddered under the twining ropes that still held to his much smaller body.

“What?” gasped Professor McGonagoll. But Percy was backing up, his hand clutched tightly on his wand, aiming it at the rat.

“Professor!” he shouted, “the ropes!”

She snapped her mouth shut with a click and waved her wand down with a furious motion, breaking the rope spell.

The rat before them was transforming slowly, with horrid bubbling as its skin lengthened and swelled, the fur thinning into small hairs, its face horribly shrinking and expanding with pops and odd slurping noises. The form was settling into that of a squat, middle aged man, his hair thinning and dressed in rags.

McGonagall breathed a sharp intake as Percy stalked towards it.

“Percy! Behind me!” she said sharply, clutching at the Hogwart’s seal she always wore as a pin on her cape. The doors slammed close as she did so. “Expecto patronum!” she cried, and a silvery tabby shot out of her wand. It sat in front of her and waited, its tail tucked behind its legs. “Go to all the Heads of Houses and inform them we have an intruder in the castle! Enable the emergency lockdown protocols! Inform Dumbledore I am in the Transfiguration classroom and tell him to meet me here at once!” The cat split into four separate ghost-like images and took off with a bound towards the door.

Percy’s eyes were locked on the wheezing man lying before him. His knees were weak, his stomach roiling. It was exactly the man he had feared in his dreams. 

He shifted towards the sprawled figure, trembling. He both feared and had to know if it was the same man whose smile haunted his dreams. 

“Stay still,” Professor McGonangall said sharply, her wand still trained at the man. “He’s stunned now, but who knows how dangerous he is? He must have been scouting your family for a long time, to take the spot of your rat! He’s an animagus, of course,” she added, eyeing Percy with a sharp look. “THe spell was supposed to put him back to his original form, to undo the transfiguration you have done so far. But now we see that his original form is a man!”

Percy nodded in resignation. The worries he had managed to push off with his Occlumency, with the normalcy of his school years all came rushing back in. 

He had to be a Seer. There was no other explanation for having worried so extensively about something as specific as this. He felt his fists clenching, his breath quickening and forced himself to exhale slowly, fighting the black dots that swam at the edges of his vision.

“I think the rat has always been an animagus,” he whispered to her, horrified at the thought of his visions continuing to come true. “My brothers found it in my Dad’s workshop when I was just young. They managed to convince my Mom to keep it for a pet. But he’s hardly changed at all since we got him. Animagus can’t choose their form, can they?”

“They can’t,” Professor McGonagall agreed, her mouth firming in a thin line. The sounds of doors locking and desks scraping confirmed that the school was locking down, keeping the children all inside their current classrooms. The portraits began to move in the room behind them, painted eyes staring at the bound man and then hurrying out of the room again; reporting to the other teachers and staff, no doubt. 

A phoenix patronus leapt through the roof and landed before Professor McGonagall. “I’m arriving,” the bird said with Dumbledore’s voice, and footsteps sounded at the door.

“Minerva?” the headmaster’s voice, usually jovial was serious and firm. “Is it safe for me to come in?”

“Safe as houses,” Professor McGonagall agreed.

It must have been a prearranged code, because the Headmaster swept in, a fierce light shining in his eyes, his wand drawn. His gaze swept across the room in quick evaluation. Percy felt a spell sweep across his forehead, a faint cold touch. He squeezed his eyes shut and let the tears that threatened from his eyes fall down his cheeks. 

Dumbledore drew up in front of the man, adding a gold set of ropes around the fallen man, his face thunderous. Percy could feel the power crackling off of him.

“How did he get into the castle?” Dumbledore asked, his gaze penetrating.

“He was an animagus. Mr. Weasley had been keeping him as a pet rat,” Professor McGonagall said, her eyes darting towards Percy with a faint tinge of pity. “It was shere luck that I discovered the problem at all. Mr. Weasley had been practicing his transfiguration on his pet and asked me to put him back to rights. Had I merely reversed the spell, we would have never known. But given that I was uncertain all that had been applied, I did the encantation for a complete reversion to the original form. We were only lucky that I had already stunned him, for he was squirming awfully hard and I didn’t want the spell to go astray.”

Dumbledore’s piercing gaze connected with Percy’s. He swallowed hard and looked down. 

“He was your rat, Mr. Weasley?” Dumbledore asked, his tone gentle. 

Percy could only nod.

He was still so overwhelmed. He did not want to be a prophet. Most of all, he did not want to be a prophet of something as horrible as the visions he saw. 

Would his family suffer the fates he saw for them? He trembled.

“How long have you had him?” Dumbledore asked.

“Really, Albus,” Professor McGonagall said, moving towards Percy. “You should see that the boy is completely overwhelmed. I think we need to call the Aurors and get Mr. Weasley to Madam Pomfrey.”

But Percy felt as though he was hearing the words from a distance. He swayed in his boots and finally collapsed on the floor.

~☆~

He awoke in the hospital ward with his Aunt Muriel sitting at the end of his bed.

“Percy,” she breathed as he slowly woke up. She was holding his hand tightly. 

The ghost hovered even closer by, stretched out beside him on the other side of the bed from his Aunt. 

“Aunt Muriel?” Percy asked, blurry. “What are you doing here?”   
“Your Head of House called us over the Floo,” she answered. “He said you had taken a particularly nasty panic attack after Scabbers was revealed to be an animagus. You fainted and hit your head, worsening matters. Madam Pomfrey doused you with a calming draught and treated your concussion already, but Percy,” Aunt Muriel’s voice thickened, “you’re going to have to talk with the Aurors.”

Percy squeezed his eyes shut. It seemed his visions could prepare him for some things, but not for others. 

“It’s okay,” he agreed. 

“I’ll be right here with you, Percy,” Aunt Muriel assured him. “Your Head of House insisted that minors must always have a guardian present when the Aurors question them, even if it’s not for something you’re at suspicion for.”

Footsteps approached down the hallway, and Madam Pomfrey poked her head in behind the drawn curtain. “You’re awake, I see,” she said brusquely. She looked to his Aunt Muriel, “He’s doing better, I presume?” 

Aunt Muriel glanced at Percy and squeezed his hand, and nodded to Madam Pomfrey.

“All right, Percy,” Madam Pomfrey said to him, “The Aurors are here. As the medical professional in charge of your care, I can send them away if you are not feeling absolutely recovered. Your head injury was quite simple to heal, and your panic attack seems to have stabilized, so in strictest terms you are sufficiently recovered. But you’ve had quite a shock and it’s reasonable for me to send them away until the morning. Are you feeling ready to give your statement or would you rather wait until tomorrow?”

Percy straightened up in his bed, pushing the cushions up behind his head. 

His head did still ache somewhat, but it wasn’t any worse than if he’d missed a night of sleep. 

“May as well get it over with,” he agreed glumly. 

Aunt Muriel sent him an approving look. 

“Very good, Percy,” she agreed, patting him on the knee. 

Two red robed Aurors were standing in deep conversation by the hospital door, shooting him intermittent looks as they spoke with Madam Pomfrey. 

After a moment of discussion between the three, they strode purposefully over to Percy’s bedside. 

The tall Black man spoke first, offering Percy his hand. 

“Kingsley Shacklebolt,” he said, his voice a deep baritone. “I’m here with my partner, John Dawlish. We’re from the Auror Department.”

Percy offered him a shaking hand. He already recognized both wizards.

“Percy Weasley,” he managed to get out beyond the lump suddenly in his throat. 

But the Aurors misinterpreted his apprehension. 

“You’re not in trouble, Percy,” Dawlish said gently, conjuring himself and Shacklebolt identical wooden chairs to sit on. “We just need to get a statement from you about what you saw. We have to make sure we understand this situation as best as possible.”

Percy nodded, swallowing, the weight of the endeavour suddenly upon him. Vague images of Sirius Black’s gaunt face swirled through his mind, the strong sense of his innocence, the ghost’s words. And the rat-- the traitor. He shuddered. 

Perhaps this was a vision he could prevent the future from manifesting. 

“I’ll do the best I can to tell you everything I can,” Percy vowed, sitting up straighter on his bed. 

They questioned him for about an hour, going over little details like when Percy had first started locking his rat up in the cage, the exact patterns of its pelt. When it was over and they were shaking hands to leave, Percy looked to Shacklebolt hopefully. 

“Will he be declared innocent now?” he asked Shacklebolt. His voice sounded hopelessly young even to his own ears. 

“Who?” Shacklebolt asked, blinking in surprise as he stood over Percy’s bed.

“Sirius Black,” Percy answered. “Now that you’ve found Peter Pettigrew, you have to declare Lord Black innocent, don’t you?”

Dawlish was frowning. 

“What makes you think the rat was Pettigrew?” he said, the lines in his face becoming more pronounced. “This did not come out in your testimony.”

Percy bit his lip, looking over to his Aunt Muriel, who was only looking at him with a puzzled look on her face, her eyes unreadable underneath the reflection of her glasses. 

‘Lie, Percy,’ the ghost breathed quietly in his ear.

“I don’t know!” Percy said miserably, trapped in the severity of Dawlish’s gaze. He began to panic. Had no one said Peter’s name? He normally found it so easy to separate out the world of his visions from the world of reality. He hadn’t made such a mistake in years. 

‘Say that you heard Dumbledore say it,’ the ghost improvised, ‘when you were passed out. Say you heard him and Minerva talking.’

Percy repeated this to the Aurors. Dawlish and Shacklebolt were exchanging a heavy look. Aunt Muriel’s hand on his knee squeezed tighter. 

“What makes you think Black is innocent?” Dawlish snapped, but Shacklebolt touched Dawlish’s arm gently, lowering his eyebrows at him. 

“He’s my family,” Percy whispered, his eyes filling with tears. “I just thought, if you found Pettigrew...” his voice trailed off.

Shacklebolt sighed, put a hand on Percy’s shoulder. 

“Percy,” he said gently, “we’re all related to someone who got on the wrong side of the war. But remember, Black still killed all those Muggles. He’s not exactly squeaky clean, now is he?”

Percy gaped in absolute amazement at Shacklebolt. For one childish moment he wanted to demand that if they had got Pettigrew wrong, surely they could have got a lot more wrong too? 

But something stopped him. 

It was the memory of the ghost, asking him about justice.

Percy swallowed. 

If there was justice to be found, it would not be found through the Wizengamot or their kangaroo courts.

Something hardened in his belly.

“No sir,” Percy whispered, meeting Shacklebolt’s gaze. “No, sir.”

~☆~

Peter Pettigrew’s capture only came out in the papers because Percy sent an owl to Rita Skeeter. When this proved to be insufficient, he managed to convince Chelsea Belby and Aaron Nott to send letters to the reporter as well. But he really suspected that it only came out in the papers after Shafiq started kicking up a storm stating that the Pureblood families had a right to know what kind of dangers their children had been exposed to while in the care of the school. 

In the follow up from the papers, Percy learned that Peter had died on his first night in Azkaban; of a heart attack, the officials said. Skeeter was openly skeptical of this official statement.

But shockingly, Skeeter seemed to be the only one who dared to state in public what seemed obvious to Percy: if Pettigrew was not dead, how much of the charges against Black had been trumped up in the first place? 

But this proved to be an unpopular opinion.

Percy read the article out loud at the breakfast table one morning, trying to keep the satisfaction out of his tone.

“‘...If Black hasn’t committed this murder, what else has the Ministry and the Order got wrong? Was one of our most prominent families falsely accused?’” he quoted. He looked up at Marcus Flint, who was eating his oats and scowling. “Well, what do you think?” he asked curiously. “Do you reckon the Ministry dropped the Quaffle again?”

Marcus looked around the table and grabbed Percy’s elbow. 

“Not here,” he hissed, glaring around the table.

Percy looked up from the paper, surprised. The upper year SLytherins they had been eavesdropping on, hoping to hear about Flint’s chances to make the Quidditch team in the next year had stopped talking, and were staring at them. 

“Gah,” Percy said inarticulately. 

The group snickered. 

“Percy Weasley, isn’t it?” one of the boys asked, looking thoughtfully at Percy. 

“Yeah,” Percy answered. 

The boy nodded. He was handsome: tall, with dark hair and a cupid bow’s shaped mouth. Percy felt his eyes linger for a second on his full lips before he forced his eyes quickly back up to the boy’s face. 

“Berne Scabior,” he nodded, and offered his hand.

He surprised Percy by passing him a note, magically concealed to his palm as they shook hands. 

He went into the boy’s bathroom and checked it when he was in the stalls. 

_ We meet on Wednesdays at 8PM in the potions practice room _ .  _ Come alone, tell no one, or know you will be obliviated. _ It was written in elegant script, the kind that Pureblood mothers spent hours tutoring their kids on.

Scabior wasn’t Pureblood, but Percy had forced himself to take in at least some of the gossip surrounding his classmates. The Scabiors were a client house to the Notts and supported them in the Wizengamot. He wondered if Scabior had written it, or if it was a form letter type of invitation.

He rolled the note around in his fingers, considering it, and then burnt it to ashes and vanished the dust in three different piles in three different locations.

He and the ghost agreed that he should at least check out the mysterious invitation only club, but when he attempted the door that Wednesday night, it didn’t open for him. 

Instead, a face grew out of the door, grimacing and distorted. 

“Name,” the face said, “one of the many sins of Dumbledore, and you will gain entrance.”

Percy chewed his lip. 

He thought of Snape’s warning, but shrugged it off as too vague. Also, he didn’t want to incriminate Snape in speaking out against his employer. 

The ghost was frowning, staring at the distorted face. 

‘Dumbledore let Nagasaki burn’ she said, her face as disturbed as it had ever looked. 

Percy didn’t understand this, but he opened his mouth to mimic the answer, but the ghost jumped in front of him. 

‘Don’t say it!’ she warned him, her tone intense. ‘If you don’t understand that statement, it will only create problems for you when they ask you to explain.’

‘But what else has he done?’ Percy asked her, crossing his arms. 

The ghost studied him up and down, stared in consternation again at the closed door. 

‘Come Percy,’ she sighed, ‘I’m not sure this is the sort of club you want in to, anyway.’

He followed her back to the dorms, troubled. 

The ghost had never discouraged him from pursuing something that truly interested him before. 

~☆~

Percy was surprised when Tonks invited him over for new years again that year. He and Tonks kept in touch throughout the school year, but she had eschewed Quidditch to focus on her studies. Without Charlie to balance them out, he and Tonks were much more studious and focused and spent most of their time working on their projects rather than laughing and playing pick-up Quidditch with each other. So he was pleasantly surprised to find himself sitting at Tonk’s battered kitchen table, sipping orange juice and chatting with Andromeda Tonks on New Year's day. Tonks herself was sleeping off a hangover that she had sworn she wouldn’t get from the shots of firewhiskey she’d done the night before. Percy was determined to tease her mercilessly when she awoke. 

He was enjoying Andromeda’s quiet demeanor. She was a Healer at St. Mungo’s, and whip smart. But she could be funny too, and easily navigated all the muggle kitchen equipment in their small flat. 

She caught Percy watching with wide eyes as she toasted bread and made coffee with the electric appliances and smiled. 

“I wanted Dora to know the best of both worlds,” she explained with a wistful smile, “I wanted her to know something about her Dad’s heritage.”

He nodded and tried not to jump when the toast snapped out of the toaster. 

They sat in companionable silence. Andromeda was flipping through the Daily Prophet, and set it down with a bemused sigh. 

“Seems our mutual cousin is in the papers again,” she commented, passing it to Percy. 

“Minister Fudge is offering a 10,000 Galleon reward for anyone who has news on Sirius Black.”

Percy frowned at this revelation.

“Andromeda,” he said, squirming in his chair, “don’t you think this is all a little fishy?” 

She frowned over her coffee at him. 

“What do you mean, dear?” she asked, taking a slow sip and closing her eyes in pleasure. 

“You heard about the arrest of Peter Pettigrew for hiding at Hogwart’s as an unregistered animagus?”

“... Yes?”

“He was my pet rat,” Percy blurted out.

Andromeda stared at him for a couple of beats, the coffee in her mug slowly pouring out in a stream over her toast as she held it limply in her hand. 

“Oooh!” she cried, snapping suddenly into furious action as the coffee dripped from her plate, to the table to her pajama bottoms. She set the mug down and cleaned the mess with a wave of her wand, jumping to her feet. She was flushed, her eyes bright with rage. “You are the student he was living with!?! If the bastard wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him myself!”

She leaned over Percy, quieting her face and grabbing his shoulder in a tight grip. “He didn’t hurt you dear, did he?” Her gaze was piercing, her mouth a line of concern.

Percy shook his head, frightened by her intensity. 

“Never,” he agreed, trying to remember to breath. “I had no idea my rat was anything other than a rat except by accident.”

She blew out a breath of relief, her shoulders slumping. She sat back down across from him and set her elbows on the table, folding her hands. 

“I’m glad to hear it, Percy,” she said soberly, still studying him. Her gaze at least, was softer now. “I hope Madam Pomfrey had a good look over you nonetheless?”

Percy shrugged. 

“Yeah,” he said, thinking of waking up in her hospital bed. “But that’s not what got my attention about it all.”

Andromeda seemed to have recovered, but she was still very focused on him.

“Then what is it, dear?” she asked, her voice gentle and soft in that way adults always used to do to him. She was leaning forward, towards him, her face expressive of sober care.

“It made me think of Sirius Black,” Percy answered. He swallowed, gauging Andromeda’s reaction. But she seemed to be recovered, and only nodded, her brow tightening slightly. The ghost however, wandered closer, pulled like a magnet by Sirius’s name. “If he didn’t kill Pettigrew, and he never got a trial, what else did the Ministry get wrong about his case?”

Andromeda opened her mouth to answer, and then closed it again, her brow furrowing. She let out a long slow breath drumming her fingers on the table. 

It seemed to Percy that she was a million miles away suddenly, and she sat staring into space, her fingers drumming as the silence stretched uncomfortably long.

Percy cleared his throat, and she looked back at him again, her eyes troubled. 

“You may be right, Percy,” she said quietly, “you may be right.”

She nodded to herself, and cleared her throat, standing up suddenly. She gathered the dishes by hand, bringing them over to the sink with quick movements. 

“I’ll look into it,” she said. And when Percy saw the determined set of her jaw, he knew that she wouldn’t rest until she had answers. 


End file.
